I find her nearing the exit, wearing an expensive black raincoat with a hood. There’s a pensive expression on her face as she nears the door. We didn’t speak much today; I haven’t eaten lunch with them in the cafeteria since breaking up with Damien, and I think the photograph of my car traumatized her enough to make her forget about pretending to be my best friend.

“Zoe,” I call just as she begins to push the door open.

She stops at the sound of my voice, looking over her shoulder. For a moment, she looks troubled, until she recovers, smiling woodenly. It reminds me of the dream I had. Letting go of the door, she steps back inside, moving out of the way of people exiting the building and waiting for me to reach her.

“What’s up?”

“Did you hear about the senior party tonight?” I ask, making an effort to sound casual.

“Yeah,” she says slowly. “What about it?”

Shrugging, I give her a strange look, as if it should be obvious. “You’re going, right? We could go together.”

To my dismay, she crinkles her nose, shaking her head. “I’m not really in the mood.”

A gust of wind outside causes a spatter of rain to smack against the window, and my shoulders deflate. “Oh, come on. I thought you loved parties. Why not?”

“The weather is terrible. What makes you think I want to traipse around in the woods?”

It’s a weak excuse, and I get the feeling it’s more that she doesn’t want to spend more time with me. “It’s supposed to clear up later,” I continue. “Please? I really want to go.”

Her expression remains stubborn and steadfast, though she tilts her head, assessing me. “Why do you want to go so bad?”

My pulse picks up, and I try not to let it show on my face as I conjure an excuse out of thin air. “Everything has felt so complicated and confusing lately. I just want a night to let go and have some fun.”

It’s the same thing I told Mason after going to the club with Audrey, but this time it’s a lot less genuine. The look on her face changes, softens, but it’s hard to read. A touch more prodding and I’ll be able to push her over the edge.

“Remember my birthday?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “Remember when you said you would do anything to make it up to me?”

Sighing, she flips her hair over her shoulder. “I was hoping you’d want something that could be paid for with money, not something that requires time and energy.”

Clasping my hands, I bat my eyelashes, like she’s done several times to me, and she finally caves, her pink lips hitching into a smirk.