“You’re not stupid,” Simone says, looking at her hands.

“I’m the one who’s a joke. I saved my virginity for eighteen years, and then in a matter of six weeks . . .” she trails off. I reach over and squeeze her hand.

“You got any more of this?” Grant asks, brandishing the empty carton. We look at him, disbelieving. “What?” he asks, heading back to the fridge.

NOW

This is going to sound kind of ridiculous, and it’s horrible to even admit, but I think I was more upset by the fact that Drew might read I had a secret crush on him than I was about Kelly’s betrayal. I didn’t realize it at the time, but Kelly hadn’t really taken away anything I would miss. Yeah, she let me borrow her clothes and gave me someone to hang with outside of the house, but that was about it. She couldn’t understand the things I was going through the way Jasmine and Simone could, and she certainly didn’t know about the problems I was having with Corey.

But I hated the fact that she could see the feelings I had for Drew. It was humiliating to think that something I was trying so hard to deny to myself was so transparent to someone else. So at the time, I convinced myself that it wasn’t about Drew, it was about Kelly. And the more I told myself this, the easier it was to believe.

THEN

“I’m going to kick that bitch’s ass,” Jasmine says, grabbing her coat off the rack by the door and sliding her arms into it.

“It’s one in the morning,” Simone says nervously, her eyes moving back and forth between Jasmine and me.

“So?” Jasmine says, pushing her hair out from under the back of her black leather jacket. “That’s good. She won’t be expecting me to kick the shit out of her this late at night, so I’ll have an advantage.” Jasmine just got home from work and finished listening carefully while Simone and I filled her in on the Kelly debacle. She read the article and then promptly announced she was going to find Kelly and fight her.

“But you’re in your Hooters uniform,” I point out. I’m lying on the couch, my legs up in the air and my head hanging over the side, seeing how long it will take for all the blood to rush to my head. For some reason, I see this as a fun game. I’m obviously a loser.

“So?” Jasmine asks again, sounding exasperated.

“So that’s not the best outfit to get in a fight with,” I say. “A lot of your skin’s exposed, so she’ll be able to, like, scratch you and stuff. You should wear track pants. And a hoodie. Black ones. To blend in with the night.” She looks down, considering. “Plus,” I add, “your muscles might cramp up since it’s so cold out. Because of all the exposed skin. And if you go to jail, you most certainly don’t want to be dressed like that. You’ll be in big trouble, for a lot of reasons.”