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No—she would sit on the data, delighting in the information, and then later use it to her subtle advantage.
Hers was a stupidity she’d tried to reclaim as radical naivete,
Wherever Sasha went—including this trip upstate, even—her alienness was key to her belonging. This was what it had always meant to her, being gay.
Classifying something as dull and boring was the quickest way to strip it of its majesty,
Natalya was straight, slim-hipped, and fratty and had gone to Dartmouth, where she’d been a beer-pong champion and the source of the men’s rugby team strep throat epidemic of 2014.
He doesn’t love me, Sasha thought, gazing out the window like an army wife.
Sasha always assumed that she was under surveillance, that others were scrutinizing her, an eternal spotlight focused above her head. But of course, this wasn’t true.
