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Rory is obviously less than thrilled to be socializing with Chelsea. Or at least it's obvious to me. And I wait to see if she'll even respond, since the last time Chelsea spoke to her she didn't exactly take the bait. I hope that our talk had some effect on her, but if it didn't, I don't want to push her further. I made my case at Andrew's and now it's up to her what she wants to do.

"Yeah, I guess," she replies quietly. It's a vague, barely-there response, but it's something, and my chest lightens a bit more.

She is making an effort
for
me
. I feel a whisper of that heady feeling she elicits whenever she grants me something, whether small or significant, that she wouldn't give anyone else. Her confidence, her trust, her touch, even just her smile. It's a dangerous thing though, a bit like a drug,  because even with just this small taste, I already want more.

"Thea, maybe you know someone else going to NYU rooming in the dorms? You know, that you could introduce Rory to?" I ask. I want to do something for her right now. Anything. It's a visceral need I can't control. And so I find myself seeking her a college roommate.

Thea thinks a moment, her lips pursed in the way they always are when she's thinking.

"I don't think so. I mean, I know a couple of other girls who are going, but I don't know that you'd like them. They can be kinda bitchy," Thea explains.

"Uh—" Rory begins to respond, but I interrupt without even meaning to open my mouth.

"She doesn't need to room with mean girls, Thea." My voice comes out a bit reproachful, and I know it's ridiculous since she hadn't actually suggested she room with them. The opposite, in fact.

Thea narrows her eyes at me, but doesn't respond to my tone. Instead, she addresses Rory.

"Did you join any of the incoming freshman groups on Facebook?" she asks.

Rory shakes her head. "I don't have Facebook… or any social media accounts," she adds before anyone can ask. I know this, of course. I know she had to delete all of her accounts after she accused
that
motherfucking bastard
of abusing her last year. After all of her friends turned on her, and harassed her to the point where she had to fucking move across the country. "But… I don't need a roommate. I've requested a single."

Of course she did. Her nightmares. I feel myself getting riled up. It's a familiar feeling. I get angry any time I think about what she went through. But I keep my temper in check and take a long sip of orange juice to calm myself.

I hate that Rory lost so much of herself because of
him
. Her family was destroyed, her friendships. She lost her connection to her hometown, to her childhood, and it just seems so fucking unfair that she lost this connection too. I'm not especially active on social networking sites, but I do find some of them useful, and in this day and age, for our generation, it's used for almost everything. Case in point: meeting college classmates.

"Maybe you should join Facebook," I suggest. "Even if you don't need a roommate, it couldn't hurt to meet some people."

Rory glares at me, and part of me withers at her ire. But if there's anything I can help fix for her, I have to do it.

She once accused me of trying to fix
her
. But that's ridiculous. Rory is fucking perfect. But some aspects of her life, they could use some fixing. And it's not like she's adverse to social media on principle, or because she doesn't like it—she's just afraid.

She has every right to be, of course. After her past experiences. But I hate it when she lets fear make her decisions. And though I don't know if it's even my place to get involved anymore, I'm not sure I can help myself. I just care about her so damn much.

"Just to meet people for school, you know? You could keep the account private. No one would see it except for people you wanted to meet," I suggest. "I could help you with it."

Rory sighs. I think she knows I'm right. Being digitally antisocial has kept her from doing the things the rest of us are all doing in preparation for college, and I can tell this isn't the first time it's been a concern for her.

"Maybe." It's a concession. For her, anyway. And I'll take it.

Thea starts asking Rory about majors and courses and I watch her fall into her element. She wants to study courses related to pre-law. She wants to help underprivileged families like her mother used to do before she moved here and had to join a big firm to support them on one income. But Rory wants to focus on helping women, she says shyly, and I just sit back and smile to myself.

She thinks she's regressed because of what happened in Miami, but I see something different. I see a girl planning her future. And an admirable one at that.

I smear my bagel with a generous amount of cream cheese and pile on the lox, my favorite, and cringe when Danny starts asking me about sexual exploits, like it would be even remotely appropriate even if my girl-who's-not-my-girl—which in his defense, he's ignorant of—wasn't sitting right across the table. But for God's sake, our mothers are
right there.

"I've been busy with school and finals, and everything." I blow off his question as best I can. If it were anyone else, they would take the hint, but with Danny, social cues can get completely lost.

"What happened with that hot chick you were talking about last time?" Danny persists.

Shit
. He's talking about Rory. I notice her stiffen across the table, and I wonder if she's uncomfortable because she thinks I spoke about her in those terms recently. After all, I promised her we could go back to being just friends.
Fucking Danny.

"Nothing," I murmur vaguely, hoping someone will change the subject. And Danny does just that, and I regret it instantly.

"Hey, what the hell happened on spring break, bro?" He nods at Thea, and the girls all turn their attention to our conversation. "Thea said one of your friends got attacked in an alley by some crazy dude? And you beat his ass? Was it that same hot chick? Is she really that hot that guys can't control themselves?" Danny thinks he's said something witty, and he just keeps on munching his bagel, unaware that I am pummeling him with my gaze.

"Ow!" he yelps, and I don't have to unlock my glare from my cousin to know Thea must have kicked him.

"You are so freaking stupid sometimes, Danny," Thea practically growls.

"What'd I say?" he asks, truly dumbfounded.

I take deep breaths. It would not be helpful if I were to jump across the table and repeat my mind's actions with my fists. But
God
, how I want to get just one good one in. When I've convinced myself that I'm in control of my anger, my eyes search for Rory, but she's already excusing herself and fleeing to the bathroom.

Our moms peek over to see what the interruption was, and I shove my chair back violently to go after her, but Bits stops me.

"I'll go," she says. I notice Carl has also gotten up, presumably to do the same thing, and she looks to me for my opinion. The truth is I want to go. Selfishly, I want to see for myself that she's okay, and to be the one to console her if she's upset.
Christ
, maybe I do have some kind of hero complex when it comes to her. And for that reason, I nod at Bits to go instead. Carl looks at me dubiously, obviously thinking she should be the one to go after her friend, but she sits back down for now.

Bits and Rory have their own bond. I know they barely know each other, but in other ways, they understand each other better than any of the rest of us can. Bits knows what it's like to feel so desolate she'd rather be dead—as much as that knowledge guts me—and I know she can offer Rory a perspective that neither Carl nor I ever could.

My sister has come a long way since last summer, no doubt we have Dr. Schall to thank for much of it, and through all of her struggles, she's grown into someone wise beyond her years.

And, of course, there's the additional benefit that Bits looking after Rory frees me up to yell at Danny. I take full advantage.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I demand. Danny's eyes widen and he stops chewing abruptly.

"Sammy!" my mother scolds, but it's not the first time Danny has inadvertently said something stupid and set me off.

"She was sitting right fucking there!" I shout.

"I didn't know!" he says in defense, as if I hadn't already realized that.

That's not the fucking point! My blood boils in my veins as my heart rate skyrockets. I feel my muscles tense, and my mind reels with frustration over
everything
. Over the aching weight in my chest, over the memory of
that
motherfucking bastard
pawing at Rory, over Danny's big fucking mouth, and his insistence on fucking up a brunch where everyone was actually getting along for once.

"Because you can't take a fucking hint!" I slam my palms down onto the table and the dishes rattle dramatically. Out of my peripheral I see my mother stand up in warning.

"Cap," Tucker warns. But I'm fuming, only vaguely aware that my frustration is only partially Danny's fault. And I want to take it out on someone. I want to take it out on Danny.

No
.

I want to take it out on the person who deserves it—
that
motherfucking bastard
. But he's not here. And if I play my cards right, he'll never be anywhere near Rory again. I take several deep breaths, just like Schall taught me to deal with my
anger issues.
And logic prevails.

Danny is a moron and his words upset Rory, but the rest of it… it's not his fault.

I wrench my gaze from my idiot cousin and take in the scene. Everyone is staring at me like I'm crazy. Like they're afraid of what I might do. Like I'm the fucking monster.

My breath catches in my throat.
They're staring at me like they used to stare at my father.

I turn from them and start walking. I head up the stairs and to my bedroom.

I wanted to hit him. Danny.

I didn't do it, I know, and that's got to count for something. Or at least that's what Rory would tell me. But it still bothers me that I wanted to beat the shit out of my cousin over the fact that he didn't know any better than to be the moron that he inescapably is. I sit down on my bed, and drop my head into my hands.

Rationally I know Danny had no reason to know about Rory and me, or about Rory being the girl who'd been assaulted in Miami. A part of me was aware of that even in the moment I'd been seriously considering acting on my impulse to pummel him. It's just…
does he seriously have to think of the worst thing he could possibly say at every fucking turn?

I sigh. I stand up and walk to the window that overlooks the patio. Brunch is continuing on, although seemingly quieter than before. And then Bits walks out and starts whispering something to Carl. I wait for Rory to follow after Bits, but when a few more moments pass and I realize it looks like Carl is saying goodbye to Tucker, I become concerned.

So concerned, in fact, that I rush back down the stairs to the guest bathroom to which I suspect Rory fled. The open door reveals the empty room, and my worry grows as I race through the foyer, and out the front door.

I practically skid to a stop like a fucking cartoon character. Rory is standing there, her arms wrapped protectively around her middle, her cheeks dry but her eyes inexorably wet.

I loathe seeing her upset. The sight of it guts me and faint nausea swells inside me, like I have an adverse physical reaction to her sorrow. Like my body rejects it outright.

And I'm the reason she's upset. I pushed her to attend this brunch.

I push my fingers through my hair reflexively.

"Ror, I'm sorry," I tell her. Her brows pinch together vaguely. Like maybe she's confused. But also a little not confused. Like she agrees that I should be sorry for
something
, she's just surprised I agree, or even know what it is. "Danny didn't realize. I didn't mention it—"

"It's fine." She interrupts. An ice-cold chill shivers down my spine.

It's an unsettling moment of deja vu. Of the morning I met her. When she'd panicked outside of calc, and she kept insisting she was fine. It was before we were even
just friends
. When we were
nothing
. And I don't want to go back to that. It's enough that I have to give up the something more. But I'm supposed to be her friend—her best friend, supposedly. And I won't accept
nothing
from her. I can't.

"It's not
fine
, Rory. He's got a problem, my cousin. He's completely incapable of basic social awareness. He's always putting his foot in his mouth. And it's my fault, because I should have prepared him and told him not to bring up—"

"Sam, you couldn't have anticipated your cousin asking you about Miami…" she trails off for a moment and swallows nervously. "Or about some girl you mentioned the last time you spoke." Her accent peeks out when she's upset, though she's getting better and better at keeping it at bay. I wish she wouldn't keep it hidden. It's fucking adorable. And sexy.