He pulled the cash out of his jacket pocket, a wad of singles worthy of a bunny at Chicago’s Playboy Club and handed it over. “It’s all there, I already counted. Sixty bucks.”

I had no reason to trust him, but I stuffed the money into my purse without looking at it twice. The Covenant University application fee I knew my parents would never pay. Plus tip.

“So what do we do now—” Before I could finish the question, he grabbed my face and pulled it against his so hard our noses banged together.

We started kissing the way I’d practiced—my lips moving against my hand or against my pillow at night, repeating over and over the motions my body seemed to know how to do instinctually. In real life, it was wet and I could feel the hard acne lining his upper lip as it went in and out, up and down. Then he shoved his tongue into my mouth and just let it sit there, like a dead fish. Every time I opened my eyes, I’d see his, squished closed so tight it was like he was in pain. I couldn’t tell how long we’d been doing this, but I got bored quickly. I started thinking about the rest of my day; wondering if this thrift store had anything more interesting than mine; thinking about what my mother was picking up from the grocery store.

When he pulled away, he was out of breath and his face was so flushed it looked like he’d been sitting on a beach in the sun for hours. He stared at me, shocked, seemingly satisfied, catching his breath, then he looked down and I followed his gaze into his lap. In a frantic frenzy, he unzipped his cargo shorts and his penis sprung out, standing up red and veiny. I’d never seen a penis before and I just sat there as he began to touch it, moaning increasingly until he finally let out a squeal and came all over the steering wheel.

The smell of marijuana also reminds me of college, of the woods, of us, but I shove that thought away before I can consider it for too long.

“Can I open a window?” I ask the cab driver, who waves his hand with permission. He’s talking into his AirPods in Arabic, not paying me much attention.

I roll the window down just as we climb the ramp onto the FDR. As we speed up, my senses are overwhelmed by the wind and the white noise outside. I’m a dog, my head sticking out the window, my cheeks lapping against my gums, my blowout flattening and knotting with each passing car. But I don’t care.

I miss that girl sometimes. The one from Before.

The one who didn’t know what was to come.