“Oh, come on,” she continues, and her companion scoffs. “You don’t seriously expect us all to believe you really lost your memory. It seems terribly convenient. We were giving you space to recover from your little ‘accident,’ but clearly you’re doing well, judging by your party last weekend.”

“You think I’m faking?” I ask incredulously.

The words bring me back to my return to school, to the snippets of conversation I overheard against my best wishes. Trepidation twists in my gut.

“Of course,” the second girl breaks in, mouth curling into a sneer. “How else could you get out of paying for all the awful shit you’ve done?”

“Jesus, Whitney,” Zoe says. “Take it down several notches.”

“Well, you two have certainly made up,” she points out, laughing shortly. Beside me, Zoe stiffens. “Do we have Allie’s amnesia to thank for that too?”

“Zoe, what is she talking about?”

“Nothing,” she says, the word clipped.

Even Whitney looks confused by Zoe’s behavior, and the brunet speaks again, bringing the attention back to me. “Anyway,” she says. “Just because you’ve magically forgotten the fact that you’re an evil bitch, that doesn’t mean the rest of us have. My family certainly hasn’t.”

Overhead, the bell rings, and I’m late to my next class, but I can’t make myself move. In my head, I hear Ms. Warren’s voice telling me how I used to clash with other students.

“Did you lose your hearing too?” she presses.

“For God’s sake, give it a rest,” Zoe snaps, taking a step toward them. “This is getting ridiculous. Allie doesn’t even remember either of you, so you can take the sticks out of your asses now.”

“But—”

“Shove it, Amber,” Zoe says simply, grasping my wrist and pulling me down the hallway in the opposite direction of the biology classroom.

I stumble along behind her, grateful to have her support, but still feeling shaken from the conversation. My mind races as I try to process what just happened, and Zoe guides us out the back door of the school, letting it fall closed behind us with a sigh. I shiver absentmindedly, rattled by the late March breeze, and wrap my arms around my torso.

Zoe sweeps her hair over her shoulder, appearing agitated as she leans against the brick wall. We’re sheltered by the overhang of the roof, and beyond it, a light flow of raindrops trickles to the ground, watering the rose bushes lining the building.

“What the hell was that about?” I ask finally, my voice not as strong as I’d have liked it to be.

“They were just trying to start shit,” she says firmly. “Ignore them.”

“Zoe, I want to know,” I push. “Tell me what I did to them to make them hate me so much.”