Cassie
By Thursday afternoon, I had changed my outfit four times.
Not because this was a date.
It wasn’t.
It was coffee.
One cup of coffee with a guy I barely knew before a student committee meeting.
That was all.
At least, that was what I had been repeating to myself since Monday.
Unfortunately, my closet refused to cooperate.
Every shirt suddenly carried some kind of hidden meaning. The oversized Delta sweatshirt made it look like I had given up before I even left the house. The floral blouse felt like I was trying too hard. One sweater made me look older than I was, while another clung in places I preferred to pretend didn’t exist.
“You know,” Sophia said from where she was sprawled across my bed, “normal people don’t conduct a full psychological evaluation of every cardigan t
