"Tall and well-to-do," Veronica deadpanned. "So I do have a type." In point of fact, it was a relief, the lack of reassurance or pretense at sympathy; she'd dealt with it all a long time ago, and if it lingered still, that didn't mean she wanted false comfort for someone who couldn't possibly know what it was like. Too many of her boyfriends had known the situation firsthand, and a little distance helped. "I wanted to go to Stanford, but... I wound up here. And the Ghosts of Christmas Future told me I went up somewhere else anyway."