I ignore her, reaching my locker and pulling it open after twisting the dial on the combination lock. After I’ve traded out my books, she reaches forward and snaps the door shut. I flinch, looking at her for the first time. Her lips are pressed into a firm line as she assesses my expression. She looks perfectly put together as usual, from her pin-straight hair to the matching plaid of her skirt and headband, and it irritates me.

“Are you mad at me?” she asks finally. “I’ll take that look as a yes.” I move to walk away before she catches my arm. “Is this about Friday?”

“What do you think?”

“Allie, I’m sorry.” She continues when she sees my skepticism. “Really, I am. I was being selfish.”

There isn’t long before our next class, and there’s a large part of me that’s tempted to walk away and ignore her apology. But I decide to be the bigger person. The least I can do is allow her a conversation.

“You could’ve just thrown a party without pretending it was for my birthday,” I point out, hugging my notebook to my chest, feeling tense. “Maybe stuff like that was normal for us before, but things are different now.”

“I know,” she admits. “I really did want to do something nice for you, but I guess I got carried away. And I broke my promise. I kind of ditched you, huh?”

“Kind of?”

“Okay, I totally ditched you. That was wrong of me. I’m not winning Friend of the Year anytime soon,” she says. “Come on, will you let me make it up to you?”

Despite my best efforts, I feel my resolve wearing down. “How?”

“Anything you want. Say the word and we’ll do it.”

I hum, tapping a finger to my chin and pretending to consider. “Give me some time to think of an appropriate punishment.”

She breaks into a grin, looping her arm through mine as we prepare to walk down the hall. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

We head to our next classes only to stop abruptly at the sight of two unfamiliar girls blocking our path. My smile fades as I take in the anger etched into their expressions, seemingly directed at me, before sharing a worried look with Zoe. She places a hand on her hip, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“Um, hi,” I say cautiously. “Can we help you with something?”

“I see you’re continuing to play pretend,” one of them says. She’s a tall brunet with thick-rimmed glasses, and her voice drips with malice. In a way, she looks familiar, but I can’t place her.

“What are you talking about?”