They spent the rest of the afternoon in Bethany’s room working on their project. Well, Bethany worked on the project; Dana stared at Bethany instead. Everything her new friend said or did, Dana interpreted as a double entendre. A quick glance, a warm smile, a casual touch—each ignited Dana’s blood, set her heart racing and her mind aflame. Was Bethany flirting with her? Or was it simply her overactive imagination? Did she want Bethany to like her so badly that she had to read into every little thing?
Was Bethany just being friendly? How would Dana ever be able to tell?
Bethany’s knowledge of French women writers seemed encyclopedic compared to Dana’s own. “I took a French lit class last semester,” Bethany explained, her tone almost apologetic. Many of the books she mentioned as ones they
