Yeah, boobs.Sam poked me.“Hey, I asked you a question.”“What do you want to know?”“Was she soft? Was she smooth?”“Of course she was.”T...is was a little weird. Why doesn’t she know what a bare breast feels like?“Did you feel her nipples? Were they hard?”“Sure they were. Don’t yours ever get hard?”Silence. I knew they did. I’d seen them.“Sometimes. Did you like feeling her up?”“Sam, what’s the deal? Why are you asking me this?”Sam had her eyes closed. She squirmed a little, and I saw her squeeze. On the elevator, they called her "freak," "queer," and "wannabe woman." In the office, they made faces at her. Whenever they accepted a memo or a form or a letter from her, they took the document by its corner, between the thumb and forefinger, as if it might be contaminated. James did none of these things. Instead, he avoided her. He wasn't guilty of insulting her. His sins were sins of omission, rather than sins of commission. He failed to offer Samantha friendship, sympathy, or moral. More

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