Collateral Damage
‘A SELFIE?” She said the word as though it tasted bad. “You just couldn’t help yourself . . .” Shaking her head, she looked uncomfortable, not as angry as I thought she’d be. Pulling on her long, red fringe, a habit I found endearing, she seemed almost relieved to have a reason to stop tutoring me.
“I know you don’t believe me, but I had nothing to do with the photo being posted. Someone hacked into my account, or maybe someone became jealous of our . . . friendship.”
The problem with intelligent girls is the way they look at guys like me. Judging eyes, eyes that say male privilege is wasted on you.
“It looks bad, I agree. I should never have taken the stupid selfie.”
I was pleading, “How could we have known we’d hit the jackpot with that question?”
She looked down, avoiding my
