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I return to my mango-lychee mocktail—which, thankfully, comes in a tall glass, and not a bowl. “I just talk to them. They’re just guys, they’re not intimidating.”

“Only women intimidate you?” Olivia quips.

“Okay, you’re joking, but literally. I could never just up and introduce myself to a beautiful girl. I’d die first.”

“See, that’s exactly how I feel with men.”

Her smile fades at the end of her sentence, and her browknits as she looks at something above my head. I follow her gaze to the TV mounted on the wall behind me, above a pastel arch of crepe paper flowers.

The headline along the bottom reads:Brother of Princess Samantha of Chalonne, Jordy Miller, Reads to Orphans; Provides Candy and Hope.On the screen is Jordy Miller himself in front of an orphanage in Chalonne, receiving an enormous thank-you card from one of said orphans, his hand plastered over his chest like his heart’s about to burst.

That goddamn motherfucker.

Some of the others look over as well, including Rosie and Andre. Andre is the first to react to our staring, happily swirling his martini. “I was friends with him when he lived here, you know,” he says. His tone is more than a bit braggy. “I was one of his best friends.”

“Really?” I ask, confused. “Did we ever meet?”

Like I said, I amsureI’ve never seen his face before, so I’m actually taken aback to hear this.

Now it’s his turn to look puzzled. “Why would we have?”

“Um.” Rosie laughs. “Because Maya dated him for, like, a year?”

Andre scans my face, like he’s trying to place me. I’m pretty confident I know what’s coming next.

Three, two…

“Wait.Wait, wait, wait. You’re not the one who went all crazy when he moved, are you?”

One.

A few girls at the table boo him.

“Please, do not,” Rosie says in a warning tone.

“We let yousit with us,” Olivia adds with a glower.

Andre looks between us all in confusion. “Okay, okay. Sounds like there’s more to the story?”

I stare into my drink, counting the ice cubes andreallyfucking wishing all of a sudden I hadn’t offered to wing-woman.

“He’s a cheating asshole,” Olivia says. “And if you call Maya crazy again, that martini’s ending up on your head and you won’t have time to stop me.”

“Jordy?” Andre asks skeptically, holding his hands up. “Like, our Jordy Miller? Reads to children, gives to charity, invented feminism Jordy?”

Lotsof ice cubes in this glass.

Olivia doesn’t back down. “He was Maya’s boyfriend, he moved to Canada, cheated on Maya for twomonths,then when Maya found out he broke up with her. Not sure what part of that is feminist. Or maybe you need to read up on the definition.”

“No, that’s fair. I mean, the story I heard was a little different. But I hear you. Sometimes this stuff gets twisted.”

The thing is, he’s saying the right things, but I can tell by his tone he doesn’t believe it. See, I’ve noticed something about people over the last year or two. Even when they consider themselves rational, and fair, they usually believe the story they hear first. Ever heard the phrase “the best defense is a good offense”? This is a prime example. The person who gets their version of events out first is the one who gets to author the history books. Writing history is easy. Rewriting it is the tough job.

Unfortunately for me, Jordy made sure to get his version of events out before I even knew there was a race. In his version, Jordy tearfully broke up with me when he had to move countries, and told me he’d never forget me. Then, I somehow took that to mean we were still together, despite Jordy’svery clearbreakup speech. Shortly after, I sent my friend in Canada to stalk him, and then flew into a jealous rage whenshe reported back that he’d moved on, accusing him of cheating on me for no reason.

It’s a great story for Jordy. Sure does paint him in the world’s most positive light. Da Vinci himself couldn’t make a prettier picture.

Pity it’s all bullshit.