I try to concentrate on Professor Lutkiss’s lecture. I really need to stop thinking about this Drew thing, because I’m already slightly behind on my schoolwork, and I need to start getting my pictures ready to apply for the photo program for next semester. Which is why I should be listening to this lecture and not obsessing. Which is, you know, a waste of time. Obsessing, I mean.

I open my notebook to a fresh page, determined to take good notes. “Ally” I write on the top page. I do my best comprehending when I’m doodling. “Loves Drew” I write after it. And then cross it out. Because I don’t love him. I don’t even really like him, probably. I mean, he was just a distraction. To distract me from the problems I was having with Corey. So there’s no reason to be getting all worked up.

I keep drawing lines through “Ally loves Drew” until it’s obliterated in a sea of ink. Then, just to make the point, I rip the page out of my notebook and tear it into tiny pieces. There. Now I am ready to pay attention.

I poise my pen over the page just as Professor Lutkiss dismisses us. Oh. Well, whatever. I’ll make up for it next time. I stand up and slide my notebook into my bag. When I look up, I catch Kelly’s eye across the room. I look away quickly, and make my way toward the door.

“Ally!” she calls after me. I ignore her and walk faster. I’m out the door and halfway down the steps by the time she catches up with me.

“Ally!” she says again, grabbing my arm.

“Don’t touch me!” I say, pulling out of her grasp. Does she want to fight? Is she really that stupid? Do college kids even fight? That seems so junior high. Not to mention now that we’re out of the classroom, Frank’s filming, and so I’ll have videotaped proof of her assaulting me. I could totally press charges.

“Okay, okay,” she says, dropping her arms. “Listen, we need to talk.” She bites her lip, looking nervous. She’s wearing tan pants and a dark purple shirt under her black wool coat. The shirt’s kind of short, and you can see her belly piercing.

“We have nothing to talk about. Nice thought, though.” I turn on my heel and continue down the steps. The bitch follows me.

“Ally, listen, I know you’re mad, but—”

I turn around. “You know I’m mad?” I laugh at the obvious ridiculousness of this statement. “How could you possibly know I’m mad? Did your friend—oh no, wait, your supposed friend, write an exposé about you in the school newspaper while the whole nation watched?”

“Ally—”

“Did your supposed friend somehow weasel her way into the bed of the guy you liked?”

“Ally, you don’t—”

“Stop saying my name!” She looks at the ground. “I have nothing to say to you. Not now. And not ever.”