“Okay, lady of mystery; you keep your weird secrets. Now let’s practice.”

We go through the routine again, which allows me to show off how much better I’m getting at my grips and fans, and Isabel applauds proudly when I finish the intro to the trick. She really is fun to do this with, and I’m just hoping that she means it when she says our friendship is real.

Friends are not the easiest for me to come by, and this time around, I want the ones I make to stick.

Chapter Twelve

I SHIFT THE PILE OF BOOKS higher up on my hip to keep them in place as I knock on Sabrina’s door again. “Sabs! Come on! I know you’re in there!”

I don’t, actually, know that she’s in there, but I find that works on Salem pretty often, so it’s worth seeing if it’s genetic.

“Sabrina!” I’m lifting my hand to knock again when suddenly I hear someone calling my name and turn to face the voice. It’s Sabrina, making her way back from the bathroom, her face uncharacteristically scrubbed free of makeup.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are extremely loud?” she asks as she opens the door for us both.

“It’s come up a couple of times.”

“I’ll bet. What’s with the books?” she asks as she peers into the mirror on the inside of her door, examining her eyes closely to make sure she’s cleaned off every last bit of liner.

“Well.” I drop onto the floor and spread out the pile. “I thought about what you said, how you wanted to be in a GSA but there wasn’t enough interest, so I thought we could start our own! I found this website that recommends different books, like you can find romances by trope or every YA with a pansexual main character, and it’s all super gay. I picked out a bunch of them and figured you could pick one we should both read and then we can talk about it and stuff. And we can make way better choices than the official Book Club made last week.” I pick up a pretty purple one. “Look, I even found a witchy one that looks like it has tarot cards on it.”

Sabrina eyes the books suspiciously, then me suspiciously, before examining each one. “You thought I’d want to read a romance between a football player and a cheerleader?”

I shrug. “I mean. Lesbians.”

She nods and sets it aside. “You do make a good point.”