of theft, I’ve stolen tons of stuff,” Sam said. “So have most people I know.”
Gaby shrugged.
“This is so messed up. We can stage a protest,” Sam said. “People on this campus love to protest. I’m serious.”
“Just let these women take care of themselves,” Gaby said. “It’s what they’ve been doing all their life.”
“But my friend George, he’s in that group. They help people who’ve been treated unfairly by the system. I could—”
Gaby shook her head. “Drawing even more attention to this is the last thing they would ever want to do. We don’t have the luxury of crying about what’s fair and what isn’t. We’re not like you.”
Sam felt foolish.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I feel terrible. I thought it would all be different. I should have signed my name. If anyone was going to get in trouble, it should be me.”
“That wouldn’t have mattered,” Gaby said. “The school expects you to protest. And they expect you to move on and forget. They know what they’re doing. They just don’t care.”
Gaby curled her hands into fists.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” she said. “I need a new job. A friend of mine makes good money as a nanny and she’s leaving her job soon. She said she’d put in a good word. I can’t exactly picture myself doing that. But maybe if I could bring Josie.”
Sam thought maybe Elisabeth would hire Gaby after she graduated. She couldn’t quite see them together, but she could see Elisabeth being the type who would take pride in letting her nanny bring her own child to work.
“You know the baby I nanny for. Gil,” she began.
Gaby’s expression turned to revulsion, like she’d eaten something rotten.
“Stop saying you’re a nanny,” she snapped. “You were never a nanny, Sam.”
Sam was confused. “Yes, I was. I am.”
“You have no idea what this feels like.”
Sam wondered if somehow Gaby had the wrong impression of who she was, where she came from. She thought of something George had said about Elisabeth.
“I don’t have some safety net either, you know,” Sam said. “I do get it. I’m worried about money all the time. My father’s job has been—”
“Sam. Last year, your friend flew you to London because you were sad and it was her birthday. Who do you think you are?” Gaby said, voice rising. “You don’t have a safety net? You don’t have a family you can go home to, parents who would feed you and care for you if you needed?”
She stretched out her arms. “This place isn’t a safety net for you? Maria has no safety net. Maria is the safety net, for so many people.”
“I know that. I love Maria.”
Gaby scoffed. “Don’t say love. You just made her life ten times harder than it was to begin with. My aunt gets paid to be nice to girls like you.”
The words stung. Sam felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes.
“You’re gonna cry now?” Gaby said. “Am I supposed to make you feel better? After how you’ve treated me on top of everything else? Look. I get it. I was the temporary friend. Then your real friends came back and you didn’t need me anymore.”
“No,” Sam said, “it was never like that. I’ve just been so busy.”
“I have two jobs and a kid. Don’t tell me how busy you are,” Gaby said. “You’d better go. See? It says so right here. Section twelve: No fraternizing with students. Why don’t you go find your princess? I’m sure she has all the time in the world.”
17
WITHIN A FEW DAYS of her letter being published in the paper, things went back to the way they’d always been, as if the whole situation had never occurred. The student body did not rise up as Sam had imagined. The workers didn’t do so either. Instead, they signed the college’s contract and got on with it.
Everyone but Gaby. Maria said the contract had been the last straw for her. She’d gotten a new job as a hostess at a chain restaurant in Weaverville.
In the month that followed, Sam texted her several times, but Gaby never responded. When Sam checked Facebook, Gaby had unfriended her.
But it seemed Gaby hadn’t outed her to the others. When Sam considered why, she figured Gaby felt responsible for telling her their troubles in the first place.
Sam missed her. She still went into the kitchen most mornings for her coffee. To not do so felt like an admission of something. Muscle memory made it so that