“Wow, Noah. Haven’t you become a giant piece of shit?” she says, taking a step back and grabbing her backpack off the ground. Not meeting my eye, she slings it over her shoulder, more than ready to race out of here. But I’m not surprised, she’s always run at the first sign of conflict. What does surprise me is how casually she called me a piece of shit. The Zoey I knew would never talk that way, and I’m not going to lie, her disgust and judgment stings.
