"I know what you mean, sort of, I think," Chrissy says, her expression softening to one a little more thoughtful as she leans one cheek in her hand, elbow on the table. "I was gonna go to college and cheer. That was just it, you know? Nothing else was ever really in the picture." She shrugs, reaching for her glass with her free hand so she can squeeze the lemon wedge into it and take a sip. "Now I'm here, without having graduated, not going to college, working in a tourist trap in a place that doesn't have any tourists. And I have no idea what I'm doing."

She speaks lightly, but there's still an earnest truth in the words. It's not something she's told anyone else; there's no one else she would tell. "You'll figure something out, though. I'm sure you will."