A small group of fans have clustered themselves up by the coffee bar—far enough away from our window booth that they can’t hear what we’re saying, but definitely close enough to keep looking at us out of the corners of their eyes as they take longer than any human needs to stir sugar into their lattes. One whispers behind her hand to her friend, who glances furtively in my direction, then looks at her watch. They totally saw my late arrival.

Finally, after ten minutes of excruciatingly chipper small talk between the Girls Forever girls, the DB photographers say they’ve gotten what they needed.

The moment they’re gone, Youngeun wheels on me.

“What the hell, Rachel? Where were you?”

Her harsh tone has me totally taken aback. Youngeun is normally so measured and thoughtful. I’ve never seen her show her temper like this.

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” I stammer. “I got home late from Shanghai last night and totally forgot to set an alarm. I’m so sorry I was late.”

“You know this café is important to me,” she says, folding her arms across her chest. “We all supported you when you started doing your line, but the one time I’m looking for support back, you can’t be bothered?”

“No, Younguen,” I start. “It was an honest mistake, I’m so sorr—”

“Here.” She tosses a small cellophane bag tied with a ribbon in my direction. “My mom made these for everyone. We all took pictures with them. At least, those of us who were here did.”

I look down and see a cookie, intricately decorated with icing. It’s me. Me in cookie form. I glance around the table. The rest of the girls all have cookie versions of themselves too—Lizzie’s with pale yellow icing for her blond hair, Sunhee’s with full rosy cheeks. I can’t believe Mrs. Yoon went through all this trouble for us. I look up at Youngeun at a loss for what to say, how to apologize. But before I can even try, she storms off toward the kitchens.

I slump in the booth and sip my cappuccino. It’s gone cold, the espresso leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. Mina leans over and unwraps my Rachel cookie, and I don’t even try to stop her. “So,” she whispers. “Your fashion line won’t affect your commitment to the group at all, huh? I can totally tell.”

Then she takes a huge bite right out of my head.