“You should go home early,” she said.

“I can finish the Friday log.”

“No,” I said.

“I want to finish.”

I pressed the pen to the paper, but my fingers lost their grip.

The pen slipped, rolling off the edge of the laminate table and clicking loudly against the tile floor.

I stared at it as it rolled toward the base of a trash can.

The sound seemed far too loud in the empty cafeteria.