Her friends were talk-things-out types of people, conveying every detail of a situation and wanting input from the group to navigate their emotions. Harper loved listening and helping them; she liked to think she was a relatively levelheaded counterbalance to some of their more （extreme） emotional responses, but when it came to her own feelings, it was overwhelming to be asked questions and given advice on something she hadn’t even processed for herself.
They were still staring, and Harper let out a long sigh. Not meeting any of their eyes, she poured herself another large glass of wine and gulped down a good portion of it.
“How did you find out?” she asked, trying to be cool. Don’t let them smell your fear.
“Dan told Alex, and Alex told Thu, and Thu, like a real friend, texted us. Immediately,” Lizzie said, shooting Harper a hurt glance. “Why wouldn’t you tell us he asked you on a date?”
“Why are you talking to Alex?” Harper asked, turning her attention to Thu. This was new. And interesting.
“Nope. We’re not talking about me. We want details,” Thu said. Indira and Lizzie nodded in solidarity.
“There isn’t anything to tell. It’s hardly a date. We’re going grocery shopping.” They all stared at her.
“Grocery shopping? Is that code?” Lizzie asked, her face pinched in confusion.
“What could that possibly be code for?” Harper responded.
Lizzie gave Harper a mischievous smile and waggled her eyebrows. “Something along the lines of ‘tossing your salad’？”
“Should I even ask what that is?” When it came to Lizzie, the less details the better.
Lizzie gave the table an evil grin as she leaned in with a stage whisper. “It’s where, as a rigorous, sultry lover, you spread the butt cheeks of your partner nice and wide and give it a good, hard—”
Thu slapped a hand over Lizzie’s mouth as Rabbi Merow picked the worst possible moment to walk past their table. He tried to control his shock, and Harper offered a weak wave as he shook his head and continued past.
Harper pinched the bridge of her nose. “Tell me, Elizabeth—because I’m dying to know—which parts of my personality have ever given you the impression that, on a first date, I would be engaging in ass play.”
Indira gave a snort and buried her face in her hands while Lizzie shrugged. “It’s trendy with the kids these days.”
“That’s true,” Indira said through her giggles, cocking her thumb at Lizzie.
“And this”—Harper pointed her finger around the table at her friends—“is why I didn’t tell you. You’re all ridiculous. And not helpful.”
Her three friends cupped their hands around their mouths and booed, then dissolved into more laughter. When their giggles died down, Indira turned to Harper, her expression shifting to something more serious.
“Now here’s the actual reason you didn’t tell us: You don’t want to admit you like this guy,” Indira said. “Telling us about it would make it real, and you’d rather die than admit you’re human and have a crush on a hot guy and now can’t dedicate every single thought you have to school like the little cyborg you are.”
Harper flinched. “Wow, Indira.”
Her friends regularly teased her about her intensity over school, and it was rare for their poking to hit a nerve, but that had done the trick. Annoyance bubbled under Harper’s skin. While they knew Harper better than anyone, they didn’t have the right to act like they knew everything about this too. If Harper didn’t know what this was, how could they?
“Maybe I didn’t tell you because what would be the point? It’s not like it’s going anywhere. I’m moving in a few months—I don’t even know where yet, for fuck’s sake—so there is literally no sense in starting something. At. All. Or, maybe I didn’t tell any of you because you’re all annoying and meddling, and I knew you would involve yourselves and make a mess of it. I mean, heaven forbid I act like a big girl and do anything without consulting you three on every detail.” She shot them a dirty look.
“But you’re right, Indira, I’m the one with issues, even though none of you have had a relationship last more than three months. So please, tell me exactly how to handle this. You’re all experts.”
Harper sat back in her chair, not looking at her friends, her hands shaking as she folded her arms across her chest. Her heart thumped against her rib cage, the confrontation leaving an uncomfortable prickle along her skin. And she hated that. She hated that she couldn’t even indulge in righteous indignation without that pulsing sense of anxiety hovering right below the surface; anything upsetting her carefully controlled balance threatened to push her into full-blown panic.