It’s an absolutely ridiculous day, but damn if I don’t feel a thousand times better when we hop off the shuttle back at Camden and then devour Sunday-night Bolognese at the Beast. Of course, we both still have a mountain of homework waiting for us after cutting our studying short this morning, so we trudge back to Rumson, passing the remaining gummy Coke bottles back and forth between us on the walk.

But in my room, other plans await.

“What are you doing here?”

Isabel rises from my bed, her gaze flicking to Salem and back to me. Even though she essentially broke into my room (not that it was locked, but still), somehow I’m left feeling guilty. “I wanted to talk. Didn’t realize you were gonna have other company.”

“She doesn’t,” Salem breaks in. “Just coming back from dinner and heading upstairs. Night, Skeevy. Iz.”

Iz. I don’t want to think about how much time Salem spends with Jenna’s best friend that he calls her Iz.

“We’re friends,” I say firmly as soon as I hear Salem’s footsteps grow fainter in the distance. “You don’t need to come babysit on Jenna’s behalf.”

“You really think I just do Jenna’s bidding all the time, huh?”

I don’t have the eyebrow-arching powers of a Grayson twin, but I try my best. “Don’t you?”

“No, you little wench,” she says airily. “But I am a good friend to have, and considering you’re using me for attention with your talent-show act, I think maybe we’re even.”

“I didn’t make you do that,” I insist, and I’m pretty sure about that.

“No, you didn’t, but don’t pretend that isn’t why you came asking me specifically in the first place.”

Okay, she has a point. “Fine, we’re even. Friends?”

“Friends. If you teach me that card trick.”

“Deal. After the talent show.”

We go through my clothes, upon which she declares I don’t have anything worthy of being a sexy magician. “These shorts, maybe,” she says, holding the only high-waisted article of clothing I own, “if Priya will lend you her tuxedo blazer. You two are probably around the same size, give or take three cup sizes.” She eyes my generous chest critically. “You’d need to leave it open, which means you need a sexy top underneath.”

“Like this?” For the third time today, I unbutton my shirt, revealing the corset underneath, and Isabel claps approvingly.

“Yes, that’ll work. God, that is so trashy, I love it. Why on earth are you wearing that?”

“Long story,” I say, and it’s only partly a lie. She definitely doesn’t need to know I was with Salem when I bought it. We may be friends again, but the last thing I need is her misreading Salem’s and my friendship and going running to Jenna about it.