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I don’t know what’s going to happen after that. This won’t fix everything, but it has to do something. Something has to change.

I wouldn’t have paid attention to school at all, if it weren’t for Alyssa.

When I slip through the front doors, five minutes before the first bell, Alyssa is standing at the bottom of the main stairs. Her arms are crossed and she’s on the verge of tears, but she keeps a vigilant post. To be honest, I’m not surprised. She does this every now and then: She’ll get to school and wait for me to show up so she can cry about whatever inconsequential thing I’ve done that’s upset her. Ignoring her texts, blowing off our plans, what have you. My usual reaction is to stand there and let her get it out of her system before asking if she’s done.

But this time, she’s not alone.

There’s a girl on either side of her. Two strangers; girls I’ve never seen before. One has a hand on her arm, and the other has her head tucked close, talking. Alyssa sniffles and nods. They look …

Close.

Before I have time to unpack that, or ask who the hell these people are, Alyssa spots me and whispers, “Shit,” and the girls on either side lock onto me like guard dogs.

I hesitate a few steps away to get my bearings, figure out what the hell is going on. Felicity’s not here, and the teachers that are usually in the hall to direct traffic have retreated to their classes to prepare for homeroom. A few people, killing time by their lockers or hanging out on the stairs, ignore us.

My heart hammers. I don’t like when I don’t know what’s happening.

“Is this because I didn’t text you back?” I say. “Sorry, I guess. I was kind of hungover.” I shrug at the strangers. “Who are they?”

“I’m Olivia,” one of them says.

“And Latraey,” says the other. “You know, her friends?”

Friends? I study them, try to figure out if I remember them from anywhere at all. Olivia is tall and pasty and ungainly, while Latraey would be model-pretty with her box braids and flawless eyeliner if she weren’t decked out in as much weeby anime bullshit as her uniform allows. Alyssa’s literally never mentioned them before—or, no, wait. Alyssa talked about Latraey, I think, once. A few days ago. But I’ve certainly never seen them. And here they are, acting like they’ve known Alyssa for years.

Was one of them the mystery text at Capital Rewind?

Are these the girls she went to the Portrait Gallery with all those days ago?

“You got this,” Olivia murmurs to Alyssa, and, Jesus, she’s always so fucking scared of nothing. She needs to get over herself

“You need them to talk to me?” I snap. “About the party?”

“That’s …” Alyssa starts.

“Nothing even happened. You’re fine. You got what you wanted, you left, whatever. Grow up.”

“That’s not the point!”

Her voice hits a pitch and volume I didn’t think she was capable of. The students around us freeze, or rubberneck, or back away to find another path upstairs.

Latraey grabs Alyssa’s hand to hold it tight.

“The point,” Alyssa says, “is that you are a mean, selfish, entitled asshole! You’re a liar, and you don’t care about literally anyone besides yourself, and—and you only keep me around because I’m useful, right? Because I make excuses for you and clean up all your messes? Every time you get mad and break things, I fix it. Did you know I convinced Principal Morris to give you the entrance code? Do you know how long I stayed up, trying to talk Jenna down after that party? Oh my god, do you have any idea what that guy was saying to me Saturday? No! Because you don’t care!”

She’s hysterical. She’s completely lost it. “Don’t—”

“And yeah, I get it. You have issues.” She squeezes Latraey’s hand tighter, steps closer to Olivia, holds her chin up high. “What you went through was terrible. It messed you up. You’re traumatized and sad and scared all the time. But I don’t have to sit here and be your punching bag while you sort it out.”

I’m not sad. Or scared. I’m—I’m angry and fucked up and pathetic, but I’m not scared.

You know what? She doesn’t get to talk to me like this. After everything I’ve done for her. Like dealing with her father, and helping with Leah, and giving her my old clothes and teaching her makeup and making her the girl she wanted to be. That’s me. Everything that’s standing in front of me, I made that.

Right?

Suddenly, I’m not sure.

“Tell me,” Alyssa says, “what I’m going to college for.”