I shrugged. “I don’t know. Seems...very pink for you.”

Beverly’s grin faltered, her brows pulling together as she studied me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shifted my weight, suddenly aware I’d said the wrong thing. “I just mean you usually go for, like, baggy tees and jeans, not…” I gestured toward the tube top still dangling from her fingers.

Her frown deepened, and for a second, I thought she might drop the shirt altogether. Instead, she tilted her head, giving me a look like I was an idiot. “So, what? I can’t wear pink now?”

“That’s not what I said,” I protested quickly, but she was already turning back to the rack, yanking out another top—this one somehow even pinker.

“Maybe I just felt like switching it up,” she muttered, inspecting the fabric before she grabbed a pair of jeans that looked like they belonged on a model. Holding them up, she examined her reflection in the mirror. “What do you think?”

“I think,” I started, trying not to sound too judgmental, “those are really tight.”

“Blake, you’re so funny,” she said dryly, setting the jeans down and moving to the next section. “I need them to be tight. They’ll look better that way.”

She breezed past a wall of accessories, and I just followed, keeping my hands stuffed in my pockets and doing my best to stay out of her way.

“These are cute, right?” she asked, holding up a pair of silver hoop earrings. “Do these scream ‘I’m a bad bitch’ to you?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You already know the answer to that.”

Ignoring me, she tossed them into her basket and moved on.

“You’re a walking, talking Barbie dream,” I teased, watching her bounce from one thing to the next.

She found a white crop top with silver accents and held it up. “You think this would look good with my belly piercing?”

“What’s all this for, exactly? You buying stuff for some big date?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light, but it came out flat.

She stopped mid-pick, glancing at me. “No date, just a party.”

That hit me like a ton of bricks.

“A party?” I repeated, my voice betraying a hint of disbelief. “When? Where?”

“Just some house party,” she said, dismissing it with a wave. “Some guys from school are throwing it next weekend.”

I nodded slowly, feeling a lump rise in my throat.

A party.

Since the whole Mason thing, Beverly hadn’t shown much interest in going out. I wanted to be happy for her, to support her, but I also felt this gnawing in my stomach, this twisting thing that wouldn’t go away.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked. “I mean, it’s been a while since you’ve gone out.”

“Yeah,” she replied slowly, almost cautiously. “It will be fun.”