I was eating a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup in the dining room when Andrew stormed in that night. It was a rare moment when I could hear him stomping down the hall before I caught his intoxicating smell wafting through the door. He was pissed.
I placed my sandwich down on my plate and braced myself for his lecture.
Andrew came to a halt in front of me, towering over me.
“Did you go to Bob’s apartment today?” he demanded.
“Hello to you, too,” I said, avoiding the subject.
“Answer the question.”
“Yes.”
Andrew huffed out a breath through his nostrils.
“Why?”
“Someone had to confront him about what he did to Eliza.”
“No, no one did, not yet. You especially didn’t have to.”
I stood up, pulling myself as tall as I possibly could.
“Yes, I did. He hurt one of my friends, and
