Brett
By Friday afternoon, I had discovered there was something worse than knowing Cassie had a date.
Knowing exactly when the date started.
Six thirty.
I hadn’t asked. I wanted that clearly established for whatever imaginary jury was currently judging my sanity. Marco had mentioned it during lunch because apparently Derek had told someone on the track team, who told someone dating a girl in Delta, who told Marco. College was basically one giant gossip network with tuition.
So now I knew.
Six thirty.
At six twenty-eight, I was sitting in the hockey house living room pretending to watch television with Marco, Blake, and Olly.
At six twenty-nine, I checked my phone.
At six thirty, Marco looked over.
“Don’t.”
I frowned. “Don’t what?”
“Whatever you’re about to do.”
“I’m watching T
