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    “You are perfect.”  
    I force a smile and swallow back vomit. I can’t do anything about David now. Besides, it’s his fault. He’s the one who didn’t want to be in a regular relationship. I have no reason to feel so guilty that I’m sick to my stomach. I didn’t do anything wrong.  
    “Really, Hannah, you’re radiant.”
    “Thanks.”
    Zach’s smile is so honest, so genuine, that it makes the guilt heavier. “You look nice too.” He does, spiky hair, lip ring, and all. He puts his arm around my waist and we walk to the cab that’s waiting.  
    I will enjoy this date and I will have fun with Zach.  
    I will not think about David.  
    Zach takes me to little Italian restaurant up on Queen Anne Hill that makes their own pasta and serves everything with homemade crusty bread and olive oil. I order spaghetti and manage to eat without spilling tomato sauce on the dress.  
    When we finish, sans desert, Zach and I walk down the hill and get ice cream from a food truck that sells gourmet flavors. I get vanilla with lavender that sounds more decadent than it tastes. Zach gets chocolate blast with brownie pieces.  
    We sit in on a bench in a cement space erroneously called a “park.” It stretches a block and the ground is covered in gravel with paths wound through and places for trees that have yet to be planted. It’s warmer tonight than it has been but the dress doesn’t do much warmth-wise. I shiver and Zach offers me his jacket but I shake my head. “No, I’m good,” I insist, which is stupid because he can see that I’m not.
    “I’m not offering to give it to you,” he says, smiling. “I want it back.”  
    He leans in to kiss me. His lips push against mine and I sit there stiffly, unresponsive. It’s like kissing someone’s elbow. At my resistance, he pulls back to look at me.  
    “I should get home,” I blurt.  
    The words land on Zach’s face like a slap. I’m two for two tonight. Just great.  
    He tosses his ice cream unfinished into the bin next to us and stands, offering me a hand. I take it. My hands are like ice but he doesn’t wince. He leads me to a cab parked in front of bar. “I had a good time,” he says, but the warmth has drained out of his words. They sound mechanical. Hurt.  
    “I did too.”  
    He doesn’t look convinced. “Have a good night.” He shuts the door and walks around the car. He knocks on the driver’s window and hands him some cash and then gives me a small wave.
    “Where to?”  
    I give him my address. The ride isn’t long. I don’t live far. I get upstairs to an empty, dark apartment. Relieved to be alone, I strip off the dress, hop in the shower, and cry until I can’t cry anymore.  

CHAPTER SEVEN

    “Have a good day off?” Lori asks, filling the cream pitchers for the condiment counter. I finish counting the opening register and shut the drawer.
    Instead of just saying that it was fine like a normal person, I launch into an elaborate lie about how I baked ten dozen cookies and donated them to charity. Lori looks impressed and asks which charity accepts cookie donations. I’m saved by the arrival of a delivery guy who’s at the backdoor with crates of milk.  
    It’s a stupid lie but I want to feel like a good person, because I don’t, even though I keep telling myself I didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not my fault I’m smitten with a guy who apparently likes me enough to get jealous but not enough to call me his girlfriend. And it’s not my fault that I don’t like Zach as much as he likes me.  
    But I feel responsible anyhow, like I should be able to rewire my brain and fix it.  
    When my shift ends, I get home to find the apartment vacant. I change into jeans and a t-shirt and finish making David’s band poster. I e-mail him, offering to go to the copy shop and print it out for him if he pays me back. He doesn’t reply but he’s never great about e-mail and for all I know, he’s at work. His shifts waiting