I’m walking on clouds as we leave the conference room, registration number for my new replacement course clenched in my hand as I follow a stomping Ro like a lost puppy. “Ridiculous,” she mutters. “The way they treat you is absurd. Have they been like that to you the entire time?” She doesn’t wait for my answer before continuing to stomp across the green, wind pulling some of her curls free until she looks a little more haphazard, softer, and I can’t stop staring at her. “Accusing you of not applying yourself? God—I’m insulted for you. To fight me on that? They don’t know anything about you.”
