“I’m not doing it,” Simone says, pushing her hair back from her face. “It was a stupid idea. I’m gonna go put it back in the dryer right now.”

“Okay,” I say.

“Okay,” Jasmine says.

“Okay.” Simone.

“Okay.” Jasmine.

“Right now.” Simone.

No one moves.

“Of course,” Jasmine says slowly. “If you did it, it’s not like anyone would find out.”

“Um, hello? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re on a reality show,” I tell her, leaning back against the pillows on the bed. “People find out everything.” Does she not notice the overhead cameras and the two cameramen who are in the room with us right now? I mean, really.

“I mean,” Jasmine says impatiently, “that the only way James would find out is if one of his friends sees it on the show and tells him. And you’d have a couple days until that happens. Besides, he couldn’t, like, get you arrested or anything. He could make you pay for the shirt, but how much could this thing really cost?” She holds it up disdainfully. “Twenty dollars at the most?”

“I would think that twenty dollars is definitely a pretty light punishment for what he did to you,” I point out. I’m not sure about Jasmine’s legal advice, but I know better than to say anything. I feel like we’re in a movie where the women torch a guy’s car or whatever. Only it’s like the college reality-TV version.

“Twenty dollars is a pretty light punishment,” Simone says, her eyes glistening. She picks up the scissors and runs her fingers over them, like they’re some sort of precious heirloom. She picks up the shirt in her other hand.

Jasmine and I nod.

Simone then systematically begins shredding his shirt with the scissors, cutting it into strips. She’s very calm as she does this. I expected maybe, like, screaming or some sort of angry rage or something, but it doesn’t come.

When she’s done, she makes a little pile of black cloth strips on the bed.

“Feel better?” Jasmine asks.

“I do, actually,” she says.

“Good.” I realize Jasmine and I may be accessories to the crime, since we were present and also encouraged Simone to do it. I’m surprised to find that this thought doesn’t really scare me.

“I have to get rid of them now,” she says, looking at the piles. “How am I going to do that without anyone knowing? Maybe take them to the dining hall and throw them out there?”

“Why do you have to throw them out?” Jasmine says, plopping down on her bed. “Stick them back in the dryer like that. It’ll drive him nuts trying to figure out who did it.”

Simone giggles. “Will you guys go with me?”