Brigid held her right hand, palm up, like she was singing at the podium at church, and everyone followed, reciting the sentence like a prayer, filling the entire room with the chant. “I have a responsibility to protect our community from corruption and harm, to promote and defend the righteous standards of our community, and to personally confront those who do not.”

I needed to stay.

The meeting ended when pizza and salads were delivered, and Brigid lost everyone’s attention to the smell of cheesy sauce wafting through the small room. Ruthie and I didn’t even consider the soggy arugula when grabbing a slice each, thick and warm in our fingers, and plopping them onto paper plates so thin they could hardly hold the weight of the grease.

I followed Ruthie toward the windows where, according to her, we could see everyone, and everyone could see us. As the room filled with the sound of mouth-full conversations, I brought the slice to my face, letting the warmth radiate up my nose. It smelled like what I imagined New York City smelled like—greasy, primal, completely addictive. I’d never had pizza before, and I savored each beautiful bite.

Ruthie surveyed the room, observing who was talking to whom and for how long. It’s funny how like gravitates toward like. Before you know it, you’re surrounded by people just like you—good or bad. The girl with dark curly hair was talking to someone in a track T-shirt similar to her own. The girl with the skinny legs sat on the couch with two others, each stabbing fistfuls of greens with their plastic forks. If I hadn’t met Ruthie, I’d probably be walking toward the two girls in the corner, standing an awkward distance apart, glancing at the Covenant Code and successfully avoiding eye contact with anyone. I immediately understood that would be me if it weren’t for Ruthie.

She motioned toward the center of the room, where a group of girls stood in Abercrombie shirts and the same white sneakers with a red stripe as Ruthie’s. “They look fun,” she said. Before I could agree, Ruthie started toward them, leaving her half-eaten pizza on the windowsill behind us.

“I’m Ruthie,” I could hear her say. She had a way of introducing herself that made you feel like it was your pleasure to meet her. She made you feel important, special; like what you said and did mattered. Even from the first hello. “This is my roommate—” She looked to her right, surprised that I wasn’t standing beside her. I pushed off the windowsill and took a deep breath, then sucked in just like I was taught and walked to her, trying to ignore the blush growing on my cheeks. “Elizabeth,” she introduced me, without skipping a beat.