Two art students—identified from their dyed hair and pierced noses and alternative fashion choices—are cranking open a paper donut box on the meeting table, taking a break. On the opposing end, two marketing students—dressed like mannequins behind display glass from the nearest Nordstrom—sip coffee from Starbucks cups, raking tired eyes over their laptop screens.
‘Where’s Sadie?’ Derek asks the room, fingers drilling on his MacBook keys. We’d arrived ten minutes earlier than everyone else and since they’d trickled in, it’d switched into work mode and I’d stuck around by his side.
‘She texted two minutes ago she was here,’ says the art student with faded lavender dye and eyebags who I’ve been staring at for an hour. I still can’t tell their birth gender. ‘Probably the receptionist givin
