“No jelly?” She pulls fake lint off her jeans. “No jelly.” “Why not?” “Oh, my god.” She turns and walks past me, but, of course, I keep up. “Mind your own business.” “Well, I should know if my tutor is starving herself because she thinks she’s fat.” She gasps. “You’re not, by the way, so if my shitty, insensitive phentermine comment has you cutting meals. Don’t. You need to eat.” She scowls. “I said I ate.” “I don’t believe you.” “I don’t care.” “You need Chinese.” “I don’t want Chinese.” “Well, you’re eat—” “Stop!” She turns to me, resolve in her eyes, but something deeper behind them.
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