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much. “Just some guy I met at a frat party last night. I think he goes to school here.”
    Marshall takes a seat on his bed. “Well, is he a student or isn’t he? Because that changes the course of action.”
    “Fuck you, Marsh!” Kelsey raises her hands. “Turn off your RA bullshit for a minute and be real. Are you not seeing this chick with freakin’ DNA samples in her hand?”
    Marshall turns to me, eying the swabs in my hand. “Izzy?”
    “All I did was take a fluid sample from a couple of William’s sores. I thought Kelsey should know if the guy she’s sleeping with has syphilis.” At the same time, I’m thinking, This is bad. Really, really bad .
    “Jesus.” Marshall pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds. “This was so not covered in RA training.”
    “Condoms,” Kelsey says to me. “Ever heard of them? Well, I have, and I use them every time, so back the fuck off.”
    “That’s not going to prevent the spread unless the sores are isolated to the penis only.” I raise my eyebrows at Kelsey. “Are they?”
    Shut up, Izzy , I tell myself. It doesn’t matter. You can’t invade people’s privacy like this .
    Her face twists with anger. “You little freak—”
    Marshall flops onto his back, covering his face and groaning. “What the hell am I doing? I’m not cut out for this.”
    Kelsey and I start shouting at the same time—me trying to explain and apologize, and Kelsey uttering strings of three and four swear words.
    Marshall shoots upright again, holding up his hands. “Shut up, both of you.” We clamp our lips together and he nods. “That’s much better. Kelsey, you need to be very direct with your roommate and ask her to please refrain from offering advice or trying to help you with …  health-related matters.”
    “This is bullshit—” Kelsey starts to say, but Marshall gives her a stern look, and she huffs. “Fine,” she says, turning to me. “Izzy, please refrain from any biological testing on me or my guests. And please refrain from timing my trips into the bathroom stall and makingsuggestions relating to high-fiber diets.”
    “I don’t time—”
    Marshall puts up a hand to stop me again. “Kelsey’s turn.”
    “I also have no desire to know the estimated mercury levels in the fish served in the dining hall.”
    I bite down on my lip. I did recite mercury facts, but that was because I was nervous sitting with Kelsey and her cheerleader friends. That usually brings on the fact reciting. And they seemed like halfway intelligent girls, so I thought they might appreciate the extra knowledge.
    “Thank you, Kelsey,” Marshall says, then turns to me. “Izzy, I’d like you to hand over the … uh … samples you’ve collected, since they were taken without consent.”
    My grip on the wooden sticks tightens. That stupid, impulsive voice inside my head is shouting, You’ve gone this far already. Might as well find out if you’re right .
    “Izzy,” Marshall warns, his eyes narrowing at me.
    I blow air out of my cheeks, and after another two-second hesitation, I thrust the swabs toward Marshall. There, that’s the right choice. The socially acceptable choice . He wrinkles his nose and looks like he really doesn’t want to touch them but thinks it’s his civic duty to dispose of them properly. He holds them by the very end, using only his thumb and index finger. He stands up, raises the lid on his garbage can, tosses the swabs in, suppresses a shudder, then reaches for a bottle of hand sanitizer on his desk and dumps several ounces into his palm, bathing not only his hands but also his arms in it.
    “Izzy, can you agree to Kelsey’s clearly stated terms and apologize for the intrusive behavior tonight?”
    I fold my arms across my chest and stare at the wall behind Kelsey. “Yes, and I’m sorry for trying to prove your one-night stand’s syphilis diagnosis.”
    Marshall gives me a nod of approval. “And Kelsey, can you