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though. If showing outer confidence will help me cope with sleazy men, I’m all for it.
    No way in hell am I joining a theatrical group—kill me now, please. But something that requires coordination? Not running, I do that every day and it’s not much of a challenge, but something I’m scared to try? Mountain climbing’s not a bad idea …
    “Thanks, Nessa. I’ll think about it. I’d better get going, Cali’s probably waiting for me.”
    Nessa waves me off and I book it to the cafeteria.
    Cali managed to take a break and even found a table in the crowded room. She’s working on one of her intricate sketches, this one of a mountain landscape with a million of the tiny geometric shapes she uses to create images. I have no idea how she does it. Cali has serious artistic talent she never acknowledges. She calls her sketches “doodles,” and throws them out as if they’re trash. I’ve literally pulled the most beautiful picture of our college campus out of the garbage before. One of these days, I’m going to get her to realize how good her drawings are.
    Cali finishes the last few shapes and sets the sketch aside. “What happened with the A-hole? I saw him swoop in, but I couldn’t get away just then.”
    “He wanted to see what I was doing after work. As if I’d meet up with him …” I shake my head. Cali doesn’t say anything. “You okay? You seemed a little upset when I flagged you earlier.”
    She shrugs off my question and I let her. We gossip about my genius ex for a bit, then Cali heads back to work. Her mood is strange, but I don’t push it. If she wants to talk, she will.
    I run to the bathroom, but before I return for my shift, I stop at the bottom of the stairs to the casino floor. A flyer on the employee corkboard catches my eye. It’s an advertisement for the Alpine Mudder. Images of guys climbing a plank wall, wearing Braveheart kilts and blue face paint, mud smeared on their arms and legs. Pictures of a girl in a green bandana and sports bra, slithering in the dirt under barbed wire—I’ve seen this advertisement on Facebook. It’s some extreme obstacle course with mud and partying—the kind of event a bunch of ex-rugby players would be into.
    I’d never do this. The Alpine Mudder is competitive (which I love), dirty (which I hate), and dangerous (not my thing).
    Then Nessa’s suggestion about stepping out of my comfort zone pops into my head.
    The cafeteria door is open, but no one is paying me any attention.
    I scribble the Web address for the Alpine Mudder on my ordering pad and climb the stairs to the casino.

Chapter Four
    Cali and I are meeting Nessa after work tonight to hit the Blue club. By the time we arrive in the basement to change out of our uniforms, Nessa is already in skinny jeans, a flowing tank top, and gold heels. Her shoes are the length of a Twinkie to match her petite frame, and about the cutest child-sized adult shoes I’ve ever seen. I rush past her to my locker. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”
    “Take your time.” She pulls out a makeup bag the size of a compact car. “I need to freshen up.”
    Cali changes and puts on lipstick in the amount of time it takes me to untangle myself from the Houdini bustier contraption I wear for work. I hand in my uniform to the seamstress counter. When I return to Nessa’s locker, she’s still applying eye shadow.
    I’ll have no problem catching up now. The only makeup I carry is a tube of lip balm. Mascara and blush are applied in the morning, if I’m not in too much of a hurry. This morning I had time and splurged on my appearance. I’m wearing my cute fitted jeans and a silky, emerald short-sleeved trapeze top, though I’ve already received a disparaging head shake from Cali over it.
    She thinks that if there’s no cleavage, it’s not appropriate going-out wear. The fact that I picked a best friend similar to my mom is some scary psychological shit I try not to overanalyze.
    “Oh, by the way,” Nessa says,