Good-Arms Jock dragged Jennifer inside by the hand. She used her other hand to hold the front door open with the takeaway bag. She led the way up the stairwell to Simkha’s flat.

“Ugh,” groaned Jen, “wait up! Let’s just text them! This place doesn’t look right to me.”

“Come off it,” scoffed Good-Arms Jock. “How do you not recognize the foyer? And anyway, have I ever led you wrong?”

“Hmph!” said Jen. “You absolutely have. Remember looking for the pub-brary? Looking for Rekha’s flat? Looking for Lecafre?”

Good-Arms Jock scoffed. She didn’t think of herself as an especially skilled navigator, but she did think of herself as the kind of person who knew her friends’ strengths and weaknesses. For example, Jen had terrible navigation skills and zero spatial memory. Sure, Good-Arms Jock could text Simkha to come collect them from the street. But she was pretty certain that she would stress Simkha out if she asked.

“None of your examples count. All I did was stop to ask directions!”

“They bloody well do count,” insisted Jen. “You thought we were already there when you knocked at the door.”

“Unbelievable,” said Good-Arms Jock. “Well, you can wait here while I ask for directions.”

Good-Arms Jock fixed Jen with a stare that said behave yourself, then released Jen’s hand to knock at the door. She rolled her eyes when Jen more-or-less hid behind her back.

Simkha swung the door open.

“Sorry to bother you ma’am,” said Good-Arms Jock,“ can you give us directions to Simkha’s flat from here?”

“Ughhh-h,” groaned Jen.

Simkha’s gaze flicked back and forth between Good-Arms Jock and Jennifer. She tilted her head like she was going to ask a question. But she left it, shaking the question off and plastering on a smile.

“...Yeah… hi, you two! Come in! Thanks for being flexible, and coming here. I’ve had a few… uh… life complications crop up since we talked last night. S-sorry for changing plans at the last-minute.”

Good-Arms Jock smiled back, reassured Simkha, and thanked her for having everybody over. In truth, Good-Arms Jock preferred this meetup at Simkha’s flat instead of meeting up at the Jericho. First, Good-Arms Jock wanted to sate her curiosity by snooping around Simkha’s flat some more. Second, she was rather excited to meet another of Simkha’s friends on campus.

Good-Arms Jock couldn’t help her curiosity about Simkha. Her interest had started with a convoluted football recruiting scheme but transformed into an odd interpersonal fascination. Her little obsession had quite annoyed Leg Day and Jen in the beginning. But she was convinced that Simkha would be the perfect friend to help Leg Day overcome her particular interpersonal anxieties, so she persisted until the others came around to team We Like Simkha.

Simkha ushered the pair of new arrivals inside and nervously asked them to leave their shoes by the door.

Simkha’s flat looked about the same as it had yesterday night. It wasn’t precisely cluttered, but it was distinctively arranged according to Simkha’s unique sensibilities. For example, Simkha had a pair of bookcases against the wall where her little hallway met her main room. The cases were not divided into a section for books, a section for puzzles, a section for board games, and a section for art supplies. Instead, all the shelves were adjusted to a different height, and each shelf was filled with whichever books, puzzles, games, and art supplies that most closely fit on the shelf, then further sorted by color instead of use. Only the tallest shelf deviated from the scheme. That was because one end was left empty, then subsequently filled by a stack of magazines devoted to birding, or linguistics, or maybe politics. The top of the shelves were covered by plants and a few baskets of bric-a-brac apparently abandoned at random.

Leg Day looked up from Simkha’s little table, freezing in place with a slice of toast, avocado, and hot sauce halfway to her mouth. She wore a slight smirk and an athleisure top cut just high enough to permit the occasional glimpse of abs. She also wore that one pair of breezy athletic shorts—the ones that did the best job at complimenting the tone of her thighs. Leg Day’s eyes twinkled as she caught Good-Arms Jock looking over her outfit, but just for a moment.

Across from Leg Day sat a stylish pink-haired girl who Good-Arms Jock had noticed around town once or twice. Between them lay a spread of breakfast foods big enough to feed everybody present.

Good-Arms Jock smiled at Simkha as she raised the bag of caff takeaway that she and Jen brought.

“Haha, oopsie I guess? I must have read your text wrong. Jen and me picked up takeaway for, like, three people. Good thing I love to eat so much?”

Simkha blushed and looked at her feet.

“S-sorry about the misunderstanding. Maybe I can, uh, venmo you some money for all this?”

“It’s nothing,” said Good-Arms Jock. “This is just what I do.”

Leg Day raised an eyebrow behind Simkha’s back. Which was fair because if Leg Day had made the offer, then Good-Arms Jock would have accepted the money with no second thought. The difference was that Leg Day was a known quantity. A known quantity with a whole fucking trust-fund from a rich uncle. Perhaps more importantly, Leg Day probably wouldn’t stress herself out if Good-Arms Jock admitted that she needed the money.

Jen pulled herself forward and snatched the takeaway bag.

“Don’t think she was just being polite either.” Jen ripped the top of the bag open. “She means it, because of The Curse. She always shows up with a bunch of food that’s not needed, or with no food when she was supposed to bring it. She knew she should have double-checked your message.”

“A curse?” said the pink-haired girl. “I love a good curse story.”

Simkha jumped, then scurried to the new girl’s side to make introductions.

“Ah, shoot! You all don’t know each other. Right, so… this is my friend Mika.” Simkha tugged nervously at a dark green necklace. “And Mika… these are my friends: Jennifer and, well, Good-Arms Jock.”

Mika stood up from the table, puffed out her chest, and beamed. On closer inspection, Mika looked unfairly fashionable in her outfit. She must have pulled it together from clothing bought at charity shops, given the constituent garments. She had transformed the motley collection of garments into a fashion masterclass. Good-Arms Jock couldn’t figure out how she did it.

“Good-Arms!” said Mika “Oh, I absolutely adore the nickname. Simkha texted me the story about blurting that out, and my girlfriend and I were obsessed about it all last night. But I get it. You look hot. Your whole fit is very G Flip—I’m sure you know the music video I’m talking about.”

Leg Day shifted to position herself behind Mika’s back. She gave Good-Arms Jock a very-serious nod and presented an extremely dignified thumbs-up.

“Oh my god, stop-it,” Good-Arms Jock beamed. “You’re so sweet! I really like this outfit. I wear variations on it, like, twice a week. I didn’t really set out to steal the look… but you are, like, fully correct about the G Flip influence. I watched that video… kind of a lot.”

That was a lie, because Good-Arms Jock had knowingly and willfully stolen the look. She had made notes about the original fit with Leg Day. Then she had created a pinterest board to help get the vibes right. Her eyes drifted from Leg Day’s face back to Mika.

Huh. Look at that hemline.

“It’s tailored!” exclaimed Good-Arms Jock. “Your outfit! Oh, I couldn’t figure out what it was! But that’s why you look so fucking good! Shit, sorry you do look amazing. But your tailor is some kind of genius to make sure your clothes keep up with you so well. You look fit as fuck.”

“Thanks!” Mika beamed. “I sewed it myself!”

“No way! Shut up!”

“Aaah! You’re too kind! I’m really pleased you like it; clothing compliments are pure dopamine for me right now. I just started to hit my stride with tailoring about a month ago. Before that, I couldn’t lose the amateurish look. Just ask Simkha.”

Simkha blinked, frumpling her face in an expression of befuddlement.

“Ohhh. That’s why you’ve looked so hot lately. That… totally makes sense.”

“Oh my god,” Mika laughed and grinned at Simkha. “I thought you knew! I thought you didn’t say anything before because it looked bad.”

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“I thought ‘I’m staying in to work on my seams’ was a euphemism for something that I didn’t understand.”

“Maybe if I was ‘staying in to work on Hrefna’s seams,’ ifyouknowwhatImean. Well I guess I’m pleased that you didn’t hate my sewing, if you were just too distracted by my overwhelming hotness.”

Simkha groaned and flushed, burying her face behind shaky hands.

“I… I just kind of assumed I was, like, relapsing. With that little crush I had on you when we first met.”

Good-Arms Jock took a seat, relaxed, and let herself muse. Simkha was adorably easy to fluster. She was downright refreshing, with her total inability to hide her thoughts or dissemble. She was a tempting target for a spot of over-the-top flirting given her cute reactions. But she probably wouldn’t take the teasing in the positive spirit that Good-Arms Jock intended, besides which she already looked a bit overwhelmed.

The conversation moved on and Simkha seemed to throw herself into the role of hostess. She slipped away and unfolded more chairs, ensuring that everybody had a seat at the table if they wanted it. She busied herself with retrieving more dishes and serving utensils for the new food that Good-Arms Jock and Jen laid out. Simkha refilled her electric kettle and set it to boil. She polled the room for tea preferences.

Good-Arms Jock decided she shouldn’t try to draw Simkha further into the conversation right now. She remembered the look on Simkha’s face last night when she was talking and happy about it. She also remembered Simkha’s expression last night when she was overwhelmed, in pain, and on the verge of a meltdown. Right now, she thought Simkha was closer to a meltdown than to anything else.

Good-Arms Jock shouldn’t push Simkha when Simkha was already trying so hard. She surely had a surfeit of other stressors to deal with right now, given what she said about her test, her mental illness, her social anxiety, and her injuries.

Unsurprisingly, Jen was grumpy. She was probably still pugnacious from being teased. She was probably even more grumpy because she was hung-over.

In Good-Arms Jock’s experience, Jen tended to mirror the behavior of anybody she was attracted to. That was one diagnostic tool that had led Good-Arms Jock to believe Jen had dormant sapphic impulses to awaken. Regardless, Jen had spent a lot of time last night checking out this one guy who Jen described as broody and mysterious, but Good-Arms Jock thought was surly and withdrawn. Jen was still mirroring that guy’s surliness this morning.

Good-Arms Jock could tell that something was going on with Leg Day, but not what. Good-Arms Jock was a bit flummoxed about this. Socially and emotionally, she was closer with Leg Day than she was with anybody else in the world. So she felt a touch of genuine fear when she considered the uncertainty. But no, she could get herself together. She would be fine. She would trust Leg Day to talk when she needed to talk.

Jen and Leg Day had started arguing about what places were or weren’t geographically part of the Eurocentrale when Mika leaned towards Simkha and gently asked a question.

“Hey beyb, are you all right? You haven’t eaten anything yet. And, well, given our conversation earlier…”

Simkha squirmed in her seat and looked around. She briefly made eye contact with Good-Arms Jock, but immediately looked away like Good-Arms Jock had challenged her to a fight. Simkha took a long, somewhat shaky breath.

“Well… yeah. I… I’ve just got a bit of a stomach ache. Queasy, maybe? I don’t know but maybe I ate something last night that had went off? Still, thanks for checking in. It makes me feel… cared for? I appreciate you.”

Simkha looked at her knees and stretched a wooden smile across her face. She blinked damp eyes.

“What the fuck?” exclaimed Jen. “Fucking PARIS can NOT be in the Eurocentrale! France is geographically, like, half of the Euroccident!”

Mika leaned closer to Simkha.

“I’ll back off if you want, but you seem like you might feel better if you take a moment to yourself. Do you want me to play interference while you do that?”

Simkha’s brittle smile stretched even further, almost cracking. Was she about to cry? Did she feel overwhelmed by Mika’s attention?

Fuck! Good-Arms Jock wanted Simkha to have a good time, but she didn’t know if she could even help Simkha do that. She decided not to insert herself into the conversation. But she didn’t like her decision.

“...both cultural and economic exchange,” deadpanned Leg Day. “ Your average Parisian interacts more with Munich than with…”

Simkha stared off into nothing, towards her bedroom door. She must have decided Good-Arms Jock was already part of the conversation because she caught Good-Arms Jock’s eye and spoke up. She tugged anxiously at her necklace as she pushed the words out.

“Hey, uh, sorry I’m being weird. Mika is just asking about… well, I kind of had an episode last night. After you all left, I had a… somewhat difficult time. Like, I had a hallucination-hallucination. Lucky for me, an old friend was nearby. She helped me out, then crashed here after. Except maybe I hallucinated her? I… really hope she’s asleep in my room right now. But maybe not? I’m a little on edge about what is and what’s not real. I just… I hate not knowing. I hate this.”

“Oh,” said Good-Arms Jock.

Fuck. Did I think she was just paranoid last night when she said she was worried about delusions? I bet this is why Simkha wanted us to rethink whether we wanted to be friends with her. She didn’t expect us to change our minds… She expected us to really think about what it feels like to live with psychosis.

Jen’s argument had devolved into attempts to talk over Leg Day. Outside, the clouds let the sun escape and flood Simkha’s flat with reflected brightness.

“Look,” said Good-Arms Jock. “I’m sorry your night sucked. I… I want to help if you decide you’d enjoy my help. Like, I could go peek into your room and tell you if there’s a girl in there.”

“No!” squeaked Simkha.

“Sorry, that was a weird thing for me to offer,” said Good-Arms Jock. “I won’t force anything on you. I don’t want to turn into one more nosy chick you have to deal with. So I’ll try to give you room.”

Simkha buried her head behind her knees, nodding yes. She clutched at her hair with white-knuckled hands.

“ t h a n k s , ” Simkha sniffled.

Good-Arms Jock looked at Mika. Fuck. Mika looked at Good-Arms Jock. Fuck, fuck. What were they supposed to do?

Good-Arms Jock reached out a hand. She would give Simkha’s shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze. She’d evaluate how Simkha felt about that and decide what to do from there.

Mika’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth, but she was too late. Good-Arms Jock’s hand landed gently on Simkha’s shoulder.

“Aaa-aaa!” yelped Simkha. She jumped, flinching away from Good-Arms Jock’s hand and falling out of her chair with a clatter. She curled up on the floor and covered her head with her hands.

“Fuck!” exclaimed Jen. “What… what happened?”

“ s o r r y , ” cried Simkha. “ s h i t ! s o r r y , s o r r y ! j u s t i g n o r e m e . ”

A car alarm started wailing on the street outside.

“Uh… let’s give her some air,” suggested Leg Day. She took Jen’s hand and held her back. She reached her other hand out for Good-Arms Jock.

Good-Arms Jock didn’t mean to do this. She just wanted to be friends. She wanted to bring Simkha a nice breakfast. She wanted to make sure everybody felt comfortable. She wanted to help Simkha and Leg Day open up to each other.

Good-Arms Jock took a deep breath. Come on. She could figure out this situation. She asked herself what was happening.

You already know that don't you, self? Simkha is having a meltdown.

Fair point, self. But what does that mean?

Well, self. You might have been right when you guessed she’s autistic.

Something in Simkha’s room fell with a loud bang and clattered to the floor.

“ s o r r y ! s o r r y ! ” wept Simkha.

Come on, self. You read about this for class. What can you do? If we ask her what to do, will she be able to answer?

The door to Simkha's bedroom flew open with an even louder bang. A girl with no trousers on stood in the open doorframe. She blinked around the room, her eyes still puffy from sleep. She had frizzy red hair that obviously should have been protected overnight, but wasn’t. She wore a chunky tan cable-knit sweater that just reached the tops of her thighs. Still no trousers. Rather plain, boring panties. And while she was no Leg Day, she did have fairly nice legs.

Wait, don’t stare. Good-Arms Jock shifted her gaze away, ultimately locking eyes with Leg Day. She put on a look of bemusement.

“Uun Cherff!” gasped the mystery girl “Vous ksnentt stess chaanz kweey? Simkha! Cheers aat!”

The mystery girl ran up to Simkha, stopping about a meter short to avoid touching her. She looked frantically around the flat. She ran back into the bedroom.

Well this girl seems to know what to do. If she’s an old friend, she must have learned how to help before? But did… did Simkha and her…

The girl ran back out of the bedroom, still sans-trousers. Instead, she carried a small grey blanket. She lugged it like it weighed twenty pounds. It probably did, was probably one of those weighted blankets.

The mystery girl grasped two corners of the blanket and threw the blanket across Simkha, covering her head. She ignored everybody’s confused looks, and whispers. She cooed softly at Simkha in her strange foreign language.

Shortly, the mystery girl had enticed Simkha to reach out from under the blanket and grasp her hand. She carefully helped Simkha stand up, still covered by the blanket, still sniffling. She led Simkha into her bedroom, which was nearly blackout dark.

“ g * d ,” sniffled Simkha, “ i ’ m s o e m b a r a s s i n g . ”

The mystery girl spoke back, softly.

Good-Arms Jock looked from Leg Day to Mika to Jen.

“Shit, was that our fault?” asked Mika.

“I just wanted her to have a good time,” said Good-Arms Jock.

“Is this like a… what was it called… a psychosis thing?” asked Jen.

“Should we go?” asked Leg Day?

“Oh!” said Mika. “Simkha! She’s real! We see her too!”

Simkha snorted and started laughing, which quickly turned into crying. After a half minute, the mystery girl stepped gingerly out of the bedroom. She closed the door and sighed. She still didn’t have trousers on.

Good-Arms Jock exchanged questioning looks with the other jocks and Mika. She cleared her throat and spoke as clearly as she could.

“So, uh, you’re Simkha’s old friend? What’s your name?”

“Euhhh…” said the mystery girl. “Annfann, uun cherff! Hmmm… me… English good no. Good no? Simkha… happy me. Good?”