Upon entering the English classroom, I greet Ms. Warren timidly, staring at the floor to keep from looking in Zoe’s direction as I pass her desk.

“Allie,” Zoe says softly, reaching out a hand, and her fingertips graze my arm.

I don’t acknowledge her. Maybe I’m being overly dramatic by hanging on to what happened at the party, but I can’t help the way I feel. Friday night gave me a better indication about the true nature of our friendship, and it’s hard to pretend things are normal.

Setting my books down on my desk, I make eye contact with Mason, sitting in the seat next to mine as usual. I feel a wave of embarrassment as I’m reminded of the way Damien treated him. In my periphery, I see him peer at me before he quickly looks away.

I take a pen out of my pencil case, fiddling with it between my fingers, then take a deep breath and turn to face him. “I’m sorry about the other night.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“The way Damien acted was obnoxious,” I say, grimacing. “I feel bad that you left right away.” I’m confident the rest of the night would’ve gone a lot better if he’d stayed.

“You don’t have to apologize for him,” he says. “He’s not you.”

“But I asked you to come, and you didn’t have a good time,” I persist.

At that, his lips curve upward ever so slightly, and I wonder if it’s the first time he’s actually smiled at me. “It wasn’t all that bad until that point,” he says.

“Really?”

Ms. Warren shuffles papers at the front of the room, humming under her breath, and a low roar of chatter floats around the room. I can sense Zoe watching us from her desk, needles of irritation pricking at my skin.

“Alina,” he continues, lowering his voice, face somber once more. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Of course, Ms. Warren decides that now is the time to start class, cutting off all external conversation. Mason’s dark eyebrows draw together, and he doesn’t look at me anymore.

We dive back into our study of Macbeth, and when the bell rings at the end, Mason only casts me a fleeting, unreadable glance before exiting the room. I feel a sting of disappointment, gathering my books from my desk as I prepare to try to avoid Zoe once more. This time, she springs up from her seat, following me out of the room.

“Allie, wait up,” she says, sounding exasperated, struggling to maintain my hurried pace.