Asher
Maybe we shouldn’t even be friends.
Even as I said it, I didn’t mean it, but once the words were out, it was too late. Cynthia was so expressive. She didn’t hide things like I did. She projected her hurt across her entire body, stepping back from me like I had physically struck her.
I hadn’t meant it. But I was so angry.
Why couldn’t she see what was best for her? If she continued this ill-fated pursuit of the transfer exam, she would spend the next month stressing and studying, and in the end, when she failed, she would be depressed.
She’d accused me of being controlling, words that rattled me more than they should have. Maybe I was, but only because I did know more about this than she did. I knew the transfer exam was difficult, even for the scholarly students.
I wanted her
