After lunch, Kiera’s mom brings vanilla cupcakes from Blue Bird Bakery that have been clustered together and iced to look like the heart-eyes emoji, everyone’s favorite. I think even Mrs. Young is excited.

“It’s almost like we get two end-of-the-year parties with Kiera’s birthday being so close to summer,” I hear someone say while we’re in line for cupcakes.

Oscar rolls his eyes. “Blah, blah. All hail Kiera.”

I snicker, even though it feels mean.

Kiera stands next to her mom at the front of the classroom, doling out cupcakes and going out of her way to give the best ones to the other pretty girls, like Alyssa, who is tall and willowy, and Samantha with her curly golden hair.

As we make our way to the front and Kiera hands Oscar a cupcake with yellow icing, I hear her tell her mom, “I asked for the two-tier cake. Everyone gets cupcakes. What’s special about cupcakes?”

“Kiera,” her mother says through a gritted smile, “cupcakes are easier to serve at school. Besides, cake is cake.”

Kiera turns to me and hands me one of the few cupcakes with black icing. Great. That’s gonna stain my teeth forever, basically.

“Oh, hi Sweet Pea!” Mrs. Bryant croons. “Will we see you on Sunday at the party?”

“Uh . . .”

“She’s busy,” says Kiera quickly.

Mrs. Bryant clicks her tongue. “What a shame.” She looks at me in earnest. Kiera is beautiful just like her mom. Mrs. Bryant is a petite black woman who wears her hair cut into a short pixie style. Kiera gets her height from her dad, who is a tall white guy with sandy-colored hair and suntanned leathery skin from years spent outside in the oil fields as he worked his way up to an office job. That means he spends most of his weekdays traveling all over the state.

Mrs. Bryant gently reaches for my elbow before I can slink away. “Is your mother doing okay with . . . with everything?”

I nod. “Just fine, Mrs. Bryant.” Mom has always liked Mrs. Bryant. She says Mrs. Bryant softens Mr. Bryant’s bravado, whatever that means.

“Well, listen,” she says, “if you find the time, we’d love to have you at the party.”

I turn to Kiera, my gaze narrowed. “I’ll talk to my mom.”

Class birthday parties are like the wild, wild west where the rules don’t apply, so I plop down on top of Oscar’s desk, something Mrs. Young—who’s doing a little happy dance with her shoulders as she gobbles down her cupcake—would never tolerate during normal classroom time.

I have a staring contest with my cupcake, wondering how bad the damage will be from the black icing.

“It’s worth it,” Oscar says through a mouthful of cake and icing. “Staining your teeth black is worth it. This stuff is delicious.”

I heed his advice and take a giant chomp out of my cupcake. Mrs. Bryant was right. Cake is cake. “Guess who just got invited to Kiera’s birthday party?”