Little Miss Perfect, Chapter Three
“Excuse me?” I back up, the tip of a blown-up condom scraping against my hair, the sudden chemical scent of lube reminding me of hospitals, shots, stitches.
Pain.
“You just said that applying the same, objective standards to everything is important to you.”
“Well, not – I didn’t – ”
“And I heard you rejected Harvard.”
“Heard?”
“Through the grapevine.”
“The grapevine talks about me?” The words are out before I can stop myself.