“Are you sure about that?”

“I care about them enough to let their relationships self-destruct on their own.”

“What about Owen’s birthday?” I ask. Before I left tonight, I saw an invitation for Erin’s son’s first birthday. It was in the trash.

“He won’t notice my absence.”

It’s hard to call someone your friend when you won’t acknowledge her kid’s birthday. Diane used to love organizing birthday events for her friends. She would buy a cookie cake and decorate it herself with inside jokes. For Sankresh’s twenty-first birthday, she planned a bar-crawl extravaganza with their friends. I saw photos where she put floating sparklers in his drinks. She was always let down on her birthday because Sankresh was never as creative as she was.

Diane senses my disappointment. “The invite was just a formality. They all just want to see what a mess I’ve become. It’s cheaper than hiring a clown.” She laughs at her joke.

“I think they’d be happy to see you.” They were all so close in college, the girls felt like my friends, too. I look forward to leaving the dull cliques of high school behind and finding my own group in college like Diane did.

“I can’t go,” Diane says. Suddenly, the car gets quiet, like all of her sarcasm fizzled away.

“Why? Did you guys get in a fight?”

“Technically, no.” Diane’s face softens. “They’ve all moved on. And I’m still here.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I wasn’t given that choice. I’ll always be here.” Her voice wobbles, but she doesn’t cry. I don’t think she has any more tears left after last year.

I want to say something, but it’s not as if I have some magic answer. I can feel the moment passing us by. Just like Diane wants it to.

She brings the binoculars back to her eyes.

“Anything good?” I ask.

“Actually, yeah.” She hands me the binoculars.

“It’s Angela.” I’m always shocked when my plans go, well, according to plan. It’s funny to think people are listening to me, even if they don’t know it.

“Where’s her boyfriend?”

“I guess she didn’t bring him.”

“And she waited until they were about to close. Interesting.”

It was.

Steve’s face lights up with shock, but quickly shifts to pleasantly surprised. I wasn’t expecting that reaction, until I realize that of course Steve wasn’t expecting a ghost from the past to stroll in for pizza. Angela is apprehensive, but when Steve comes from behind the counter, she hugs him.

I narrate for Diane. “She is so nervous.”

Her light skin shows off the redness flushing her cheeks. They have some harmless chitchat. No crossed arms or standoffish posture. Angela reaches into her bag.

“She’s going to show him the note!” I say and slap Diane on the arm a few times. “Oh, wait.”

Huxley joins their conversation, hooking her arm around Steve’s. Angela removes her hand from her bag. Steve makes introductions.

“Blah blah blah. Wow, I’ve never seen such forced smiles.”

“From who?” Diane asks.

“Both of them. They’re acting like they’re long-lost best friends.”

“Keep your friends close...”

Angela orders a pepperoni slice. Steve boxes it up for her while Huxley hangs out by the register. She wants to get out of there as soon as she can. I don’t blame her. I feel bad that I threw Angela into this, but it’s not like I’m ruining her life. So what if she reconnects with an old flame? You can never have too many friends.

Diane notices I’ve stopped narrating. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing,” I say with a sigh. “Huxley went back to her table. Angela got pizza. The end.”

Angela shares an awkward goodbye wave with Steve and Huxley. I stop watching. I guess my plan sounded better in my head.

“Sorry, B.” Diane turns the radio back on and flips through three stations in ten seconds. She’s probably a master at Name That Tune.

I know my plan wasn’t foolproof, but I thought it would be somewhat idiotproof. I’m dreading SDA practice tomorrow now that I have nothing to look forward to. I replay the scene in the pizzeria in my head. A detail sticks out to me, and I almost leap out of my seat. How did I miss it? “She ordered a slice of pepperoni,” I tell Diane.

“Maybe she likes it.”

“She does, but Steve would always give her his pepperoni slices.”

“Interesting.”

But it’s not enough, I know she wanted to say. I rest back into my seat. Diane takes my binoculars for a second opinion. She gazes into Mario’s. A huge smile overtakes her face.

“What?”

Diane hands me the binoculars. I need both hands to lift them. She’s giggling and shaking her head.

“What?” I ask. I zoom into the pizzeria. Huxley is doing homework, and Steve’s wiping tabletops. The night ends with a whimper.

“Look at Steve.”

He turns to a corner, away from Huxley to clean a pair of tables, and that’s when I see it.

Steve is eating Angela’s pizza crust.

15

For the next two weeks, my life consists of school, sleeping and SDA. My postpractice aches usually dissipate by the next morning, except on Fridays, when I feel like I barely finished a marathon. I’ve been so busy I barely pay attention to schoolwork or how little I see Val.

Huxley has fewer notes for me, only minute details that I totally missed. Ezra and I have shared plenty of eye rolls over her comments. However, she isn’t trying to be mean anymore. It seems like she just wants every dance to be a work of art and won’t settle for anything less. I’ve been working extra hard not to have two left feet. I get up an hour early to practice in my room. I can feel myself getting better. I’m dancing with confidence, not just trying to keep up. When the music starts, my body shifts into autopilot. Those old lessons from Frances Glory are coming out of hibernation. Today, finally, Huxley acknowledges my improvement.

“Your brain and legs seem to be on the same page today.”

I blush, just a crumb-sized bit. I can’t help it.

Huxley ends practice early to hand out costumes. She stands next to an open box, dabbing her temples with a towel. Even after two hours of choreographed sweating, Huxley’s hair flows down her back like she just left the salon. I look like I just left the rain forest.

The girls gather in their usual cliques on the bleachers.

“It had devil horns and ‘I’m a bitch’ written above her,” Ally Zwick whispers to Kerry Anderson.

“Whoa. Tell us how you really feel, Steve,” Kerry says back. I’ve overheard some variation of this conservation buzz its way through school. I love watching my work elicit such a reaction.

Huxley holds up the costume: a tracksuit made for a stripper pole with matching fuzzy earmuffs.

“Nice, right?” Huxley says to a sea of nodding heads. They’ll have no problem fitting into those things. “I had them add the earmuffs because curling is done on the ice, where it’s cold.”

She distributes them among the girls. Some hold them against their chests. If I had their toned bodies with curves in all the right places, I would be excited, too.

“This year, costumes are ten dollars,” she says. That garners whoops and light applause. “I know. My dad and I found a great deal online.”

“Oh, please,” Ally whispers to Kerry. “I doubt her dad went bargain hunting.”

I have to agree with Ally. Huxley’s dad works on Wall Street, where he is very well compensated. Doing what, I don’t know, but she used to show me pictures from his corner office with a view of the Statue of Liberty. They don’t do discounts. They probably paid top dollar for these costumes and lied to the school board. Only the best for Huxley’s team.

Huxley shuts the now-empty box. “These costumes are very...compact, so I recommend you take the money we saved and wax any areas that may be seen.”

“Will shaving be good enough?” a girl next to me asks.

“Stubble is for boys.”

My teammates spend the rest of practice trying on the stripper tracksuits. I’m not ready for that yet, so I pretend to read my history notes while envying their genes. Girls join Ally and Kerry’s huddle. They glance over at Huxley across the gym before talking. My teammates chat in the same animated, overzealous style people slip into whenever conversation turns to gossip. It’s a biological compulsion. Talking about others is the earliest form of entertainment, after all.

“Do you think she realized Steve worked there?” Tamara Boyle asks, shoving hair behind her ears every point-two seconds.

“Please. You don’t take the interstate to get pizza.” Kerry turns her head in a “come on now” way. “My boyfriend heard Steve was flirting with her.”

“What? No way.” Ally cups her hand over her mouth. “You think he would do that right in front of her?”

Kerry shrugs. “Anything’s possible.”

“That sucks,” Tamara says, then reconsiders. “Though it would be kind of cute if he got back together with his ex-girlfriend after five years. It’s like a movie I would totally drag my boyfriend to.”

“Yeah, Snow White saves Prince Charming from the Wicked Witch,” Ally jokes.

“Hey, guys, let me know if you need a different size,” Huxley says behind them. “With the costumes.”

Their faces turn white as they frantically trade “Oh, crap!” expressions.

“Sure,” Ally stumbles out.

I shut my book. “It’s really sad that you guys have such boring lives and low self-esteem that you have to resort to gossip. Some girl bought a slice of pizza. Chill out.”

The girls stay silent. What can you say to that? In normal social contexts, I would have stayed quiet. But I don’t care about being their friend. And a part of me felt uncomfortable listening to them. They were talking mere feet from the subject of their gossip. That’s just sloppy.