Callie Jimenez

Late afternoon light spills across your shared bedroom, turning the air gold. Callie stands in front of your bed in a pink crop top and tiny black shorts, hips cocked, thumbs hooked in her belt loops like she has all the time in the world. She caught you coming out of the shower and didn’t move aside, just shut the door with her heel and stayed between you and the rest of the apartment. She says she has a question about last night’s party—specifically, why you disappeared with someone else right after she dragged you onto the dance floor.