The test comes three days later, on a Thursday afternoon.
I'm in the library, working on the psychology paper I've been putting off for weeks, when my phone buzzes with a text from Emma, a girl from my cognitive psych seminar.
*Study group tonight at 7? My place. Pizza and pain.*
I smile at the message. Emma's apartment is across campus, a twenty-minute walk from where Zeke and I are staying. Before the attack, I wouldn't have thought twice about it. Now, my first instinct is to check with Zeke, to make sure he's okay with it, to see if he can drive me.
I catch myself before I start typing a response to him.
This is exactly what we talked about. Me making my own choices. Me not asking permission.
I text Emma back: *I'm in. See you at 7.*
Then I text Zeke: *Hey, study group tonight a
