She looks unhappy.
"This is probably low on your list of concerns right now, but I'm kind of worried that your opinion of me has suffered a catastrophe from which it will never recover."
"I think its recovery may depend on what I think of Libby," she says. "And on the extent to which I can sympathize with doing sketchy favors for her."
"I don't actually think of our friendship as a sketchy favour I did for Libby."
"Started that way," Bella says, not ungently. "Even if you weren't faking the entire thing."
"So left to your own devices you would have taken intro bio at Stanford, picked me in particular as your biology friend, scheduled all of those study sessions instead of having it be on a "whenever" basis...?"
"Biology at Stanford and picking you as my biology friend were predetermined. Predetermined and fake are not the same. And yes, actually, difficult as it may be to believe, I schedule study sessions with you because I like you and value your opinions."
"I wonder how she formed the expectation that we'd get along. I wonder what she knows about me, that she could make that bet and win. I am not friends with most people."
"I'm sure she was prepared to accept that it might not work out. She picked me because going back to undergrad actually is something I might do for fun."
Bella closes her eyes. "What would a non-disaster version of this conversation have looked like?"
Bella sits back. "You're among the more interesting friends I've had."
"Can I ask you," Bella says, "not to mention to Libby any personal details - like, anything I've mentioned in passing about members of my family, or my boyfriend, or even Janine or anybody? I am still rather paranoid about this whole thing and I don't want mysterious badnesses happening to people I like if Libby and I should happen to fail to get along."
"In my fairly extensive experience of Libby, I've never caught her doing anything that petty and vindictive," says Bridget. "But sure."
"I think we've established that she doesn't tell you everything. Thank you," Bella says, smiling weakly.
"What happens now? Do you phone her? Do I need to leave the room?"
Bella walks into the kitchen, far enough away that if Bridget speaks in a low voice she really won't be able to hear her.
It's not long.
"I left her a message," she says, stepping into the kitchen.
"She tells you to confront a wishcoiner with displeasing news and then does not answer her phone when you call?" Bella asks.