I am startled awake at ten o’clock the next morning when Jessa’s key turns in the lock. She stumbles through the doorway in the same clothes as last night. The smile plastered on her face is evidence of her good time with Rob.

My stomach is still full from the meal at the diner, and it brings visions of Brady to the forefront of my mind. I sit up in the loft and watch her tiptoe around the room, searching for new clothes.

“So, where have you been?” I shout down.

She jumps back. “Jesus, Sadie. You scared the shit out of me,” she screeches, holding her hand over her heart.

“Please tell me how you go from wanting to get the hell away from him to rolling out of his bed the next morning.” I climb down from the loft, eager to find out what she sees in the bastard.

“I don’t know.” She contemplates the question in her head. “I never told you this, but…” She hesitates.

I realize she’s about to tell me her secret, but I fear that she’ll want me to share mine. And I’m not close to ready.

“You don’t have to tell me, Jessa,” I declare, shaking my head.

“I want to,” she assures me. “Don’t worry; you don’t have to tell me yours…until you are ready.” Her voice is sympathetic. “Rob reminded me of my ex. To say we ended things on bad terms would be an understatement. We had been dating for a couple of months when he asked to take pictures of me while we were having sex. I fully trusted him; there was no reason not to. We continued to date for about two weeks after that.”

Her head is down as she is reliving the moment when things went bad. It tears me up to see her like that.

“We were out at a party,” she continues. “I saw an old boyfriend and was talking with him. Nothing crazy. Just catching up with one another. Honestly, Sadie, it was an innocent conversation. I didn’t even hug him hello or good-bye.” She seems adamant that I believe her.

“Jason—that’s my ex’s name—became furious. He started busting tables and throwing things around until his friend took him outside to cool down. I was in tears, practically begging him to forgive me—for what, I have no idea now. At the time, I just wanted him to stop being mad at me. Anyway, he wouldn’t talk to me. Just kept calling me a whore.” She takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out.

“The next day, when I woke up, my phone had fifteen missed calls and twenty texts from my friends. He’d posted the pictures online and had his friends send it to their friends and so on. Everyone from my childhood to college friends saw the pictures.” A tear rolls down one of her cheeks, but she quickly swipes it away.

“After that, all the guys thought I was easy, and the girls thought I was a slut. I’ve never regretted anything more, and the thing was, I couldn’t do anything to stop it. My parents were embarrassed in front of their friends and our family, unable to ignore what I had done.

“That was last January. I dropped out of school and ran away from everything I knew. My parents are the only ones who know where I am. They haven’t even told my sister, afraid she will slip at some point.” The grief and distress are evident in her voice.

Our stories are different, but the solutions are similar.

“I’m sorry, Jessa,” I say, knowing the words aren’t enough.

“When Rob first sat down, all I could think of was Jason. But, after the show started and I saw Rob up there, the differences between him and Jason became clear. My therapist taught me many coping techniques, so I can start trusting people again. Of course, those two vodka tonics didn’t hurt,” she jokes, but her laugh is empty.

She hides her insecurity through humor while I shelter myself from others.

“Where is Jason now?”

“Back home. Working as a mechanic, fixing up cars. Hopefully enrolled in a wonderful anger management class,” she jokes again, but it’s not her true laugh. There’s a twinge of unsettled fear in her.

“What an asshole.”

“Yep. Speaking of assholes, aka Rob, what is a WASP?” she asks.

“It’s a term to describe privileged white kids with money. It stands for White Anglo-Saxon Protestant. Joke’s on him. I’m Catholic.” I laugh, but mine is as empty as hers.

“I don’t know what Rob’s problem is with you. I hope you aren’t mad that I slept with him.” She puts her hand on my knee.

“No, I’ve handled worse than him.”

“Don’t worry. I think Brady was ready to pounce on him when he came home this morning.” Jessa stands up. “When Rob was leaving to drive me home, Brady was pulling up in the driveway. He stuck his head in the window and told Rob to hurry and get the fuck back because they had to talk about last night.”

“Brady didn’t get home until this morning?” I swallow the large lump in my throat.

“Well…yeah. Wasn’t he with you?” Her own question is answered when she notices the shocked expression on my face. “Oh…I’m sorry, Sadie. I just assumed…” Her eyes display her empathy to my pain.

“It’s okay. I’m going to go take a shower,” I say, fumbling to grab my robe and shower caddy before I cry in front of Jessa.

I should have known Brady was like all the others. I didn’t let him sleep with me last night, so he found someone else, most likely that black-haired girl from Aces.

After my shower, I feel refreshed. I’ll no longer let Brady fill my head with his meaningless words or my heart with his empty songs. He played me well though.

At least at Drayton, I never acted like I wanted more than my conquests bodies. Those guys knew it was a one-night thing.

Jessa is asleep when I return to the room. She’s so much braver than me for sharing her story.

A therapist helped her, so I wonder if I should give one a try. After the incident, people suggested counseling, but my parents said it would do us no good. We didn’t need to reveal our dirty secrets to strangers. I can’t help but think though that me sleeping with every male at Drayton wasn’t exactly dealing with it.

I quietly get dressed and pull my wet hair back into a bun. Grabbing my messenger bag, I sling it over my shoulder.

The morning rush is over when I walk into the cafeteria to grab an apple and a yogurt before heading to the library. As it’s Saturday, I pray most are sleeping in, making the sixth floor unoccupied today. I shrug off the memory of Brady when I reach the elevators. He’s not worth my time or energy.

When the elevator doors open on the sixth floor, there’s no one around, except for the librarian’s assistant down the hall. At least one thing is going my way. I’ll have a quiet place to concentrate on Algebra. I place my bag down and pull out my book.

Needing all my attention to absorb this information, I remove my earbuds from my ears and pack them away.

---

For hours, I struggle to get through the problems, constantly second-guessing myself and getting frustrated. I push my notebook across the desk and rest my head on the table, exhausted from trying to understand this subject. Algebra is beyond me, and I feel like a major idiot that I cannot understand the same course that freshman take. I really should have investigated different colleges to make sure a year of math wasn’t a mandatory requirement for psychology majors.

“What? No music today?” Grant appears across from me, picking up my notebook from the ground. Dressed down today, he’s wearing a pair of running pants with a matching jacket.

I wonder how he ended up here at Western. He would have fit in at Drayton, no problem, except that he seems a bit too caring.

“No, I need to focus, but it’s not working,” I whine.

He looks at the notebook. “If you’re a senior, why are you taking Algebra one-oh-one?”

“My last school didn’t have a math requirement for psych majors. Since I transferred, I have to fulfill this year of math if I want to graduate,” I admit, embarrassed.

“Do you want some help?” He motions to the empty seat in front of him.

I’m pleased he’s asking for permission this time and grateful he’s here.

“If you can get me to understand this, I’ll buy you lunch.”

“Deal,” Grant agrees as he sits down across from me. He takes my book and notebook, reading the instructions to himself.

An hour and a half later, Grant has accomplished the impossible. He’s managed to get me to actually semi-understand what he’s talking about. I’ve even solved problems on my own.

“Now, you owe me lunch.” He stands up, going for his bag.

“Yes, I do. Thank you, Grant. You’re a lifesaver.” I pack up my bag, slinging it over my shoulder.

“Can I talk you into dinner instead? My treat, of course.”

My stomach drops. I’ve misled him. Barely able to get Brady off my mind, I can’t add another into the mix, no matter how attractive and nice Grant is.

“Sorry, I can’t, but we can head over to the Student Center now if you want.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

I’m glad he doesn’t push too hard or appear to harbor ill feelings after I’ve turned him down.

Grant and I take the elevator down, and when the doors open on the main level, it’s empty of Brady, which disappoints me.

I walk with Grant across the courtyard to the Student Center, like I did with Brady a few days ago. We grab a couple of sub sandwiches and sodas. Just like Brady, Grant doesn’t let me pay, which I don’t care for.

After we sit down at a table, I find out that he is a senior business major and is in a fraternity. He’s like a cardboard cutout of any Drayton guy.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Grant takes a sip of his soda, glancing over to me.

“Depends. What is your question?” I ask, hesitant that he’ll ask me something personal.

“How come you didn’t ask Brady for help in math?”

“Um…I don’t know. Why would I have?” I’ll keep it to myself that Brady is a player, and I hope never to see him again.

“Don’t you know?” He scrunches his eyebrows. “I assumed you guys were friends.”

“We are…were. It’s complicated. What don’t I know, Grant?” I’m impatient to find something out about Brady that I don’t know.

“He’s an engineering major—top of his class, dean’s list. He’s even a teacher’s assistant in a couple of the undergraduate classes,” Grant reveals before taking a bite of his sandwich.

So, music isn’t Brady’s be-all and end-all.

I lean back in the chair, dumbfounded from the information.

“I really just met him last week.” I realize that the only things I know about him are that he’s the lead singer of The Invisibles, he drives a Camaro, and he makes my stomach fill with butterflies when I hear his voice.

“Just be careful, Sadie. There’s a lot about him you don’t know,” Grant says, not filling in any more blanks.

“Thanks for your concern, Grant.” I force a smile up to him.

Even though I’m mad at Brady, it infuriates me that Grant talks about him like this. It’s none of his business, what’s happening between Brady and myself. Then again, if Brady is dead to me, why does this bother me so much?

“It wasn’t my intention to get you mad, Sadie. It’s just—”

“None of your business,” I finish his sentence, acting angrier than I should be.

“Sorry.” He puts his head down, finishing his sandwich.

Feeling bad because Grant did me a huge favor today by helping me with my math, I soften. “It’s all right. Let’s just agree not to talk about him,” I say, trying to compromise.

From their encounter last week at the library to this conversation, I’m assuming Grant and Brady don’t care for each other very much.

“Sounds good.”

We share a smile.

We finish our lunch and leave the Student Center. I say good-bye to Grant and head toward my dorm.

I’m just past the library, walking up the hill to my dorm, when I notice a homeless man lying asleep on the bench by the basketball courts. Definitely not an occurrence I ever saw in Drayton. He’s wearing brown corduroy pants and a plaid button-down flannel shirt. His brown loafers are old and worn out, his gray beard is unkempt, and he’s in desperate need of a shower.

I dig in my messenger bag, grabbing the half of the sandwich I didn’t finish and a water bottle. Tucking twenty dollars inside the sandwich wrapper for him to find later, I place it on the bench next to him. He doesn’t wake up, and I continue my walk down the sidewalk to my dorm.