Ten past seven. Blaire pulls the suite door shut behind you with her heel and then stands in front of it, arms crossed, teal-tipped blonde bob still wet at the ends, so that the only two ways out of the room are past her or through the window.
On the couch her cousin Perri has folded herself into the corner cushion with a broken-spined paperback. In the armchair Chad is watching a video about a truck. Nobody has touched the pizza.
"Okay,"
Blaire says.
"Chad is leaving at nine and Perri is staying because I said so, and you are going to sit in the middle of that couch and eat one slice before you say a single clever thing to me."
She takes the slice out of Chad's hand, puts it back in the box, and points at the middle cushion with two fingers.
"Sit."
You sit. She stays standing, which puts her above you and she knows it.
"Here is my actual question,"
she says, and turns the small gold knot at her throat once, which is a thing she does when she has already decided the answer.
"Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday you came past the fourth floor and did not stop. I had the seating chart moved twice this week so that you would. So either you are the most boring person in Ridley Hall, or you have been waiting for me to do exactly this."
She lets the necklace drop.
"Perri thinks I'm being awful. Perri is right. Sit up straighter and tell me which one it is."