I stare at my lunch tray: some kind of mystery pasta (green mac and cheese, maybe?) and a diet coke. Man, do I wish I hadn’t forgotten to shove some Demon bars in my backpack today. Ah, Demon bars. Eight ounces of candy disguised as granola-based nutrition. Yum. Meanwhile, the school cafeteria’s idea of food is nothing less than terrifying.

Cissy slips into the empty chair across from me. Like always, it’s just the two of us at our favorite corner table. Her tawny eyes sparkle. “We need to talk.”

The room turns strangely quiet. I scan the nearby faces, noting how everyone’s actively avoiding looking in my direction. Dread and bile twist my stomach. My conversation with Cissy is today’s lunchtime theater, and no one wants to miss a word.

I poke at the greenish pasta with my fork. “Sure.”

“I wanted to talk about it over the weekend, but you didn’t pick up your phone.” Cissy sighs. “We were all a little surprised about the party.”

“We?” My back teeth lock with rage.

“You know Zeke, his friends, everyone at school who was at the party.” Cissy sips her can of diet soda. Then, she pauses. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I’m not embarrassed.” I force myself to drop my fork; I think I dug a hole through the plastic plate.

“Come on, Myla. I can see you’re still upset.” Cissy reaches across the table, wrapping her hand around my own. “Listen to me. Say the word and it’s over with Zeke. I mean it.” Tears bead in her tawny eyes; my anger slowly melts. “Your friendship means so much to me.”

Cissy’s been my best friend since first grade, and a true one. She taught me how to twist my hair into an envy-worthy braid; I showed her how to trip people with her tail. How could I not be happy for her? I open my mouth, trying to speak through the knot of emotion in my throat. I let out a few garbled words that sound like “Ree roo.”

Cissy frowns. “Um, what was that?”

I clear my throat. “Me too. Your friendship means a lot. I’m happy for you and Zeke.” Leaning back in my chair, I drum my fingers on the tabletop. “Look, there was another reason I lost it at the party.”

Cissy gives my hand a pat. “Sure there was. That’s why you asked me your hypothetical question on the car ride home.”

“What hypothetical?”

“You know. About wanting to kiss someone?” She rolls her eyes.

I inwardly groan. She thought that conversation was about Zeke, not Lincoln. Is there really any point to telling her the truth? I’m not going to get honest advice anyway.

Zeke chooses that moment to sashay up to table. “Hello, lovelies. Are we ready to go?”

Cissy holds up her pointer finger. “Not yet. Myla wants to tell me something.”