“I got that wrong. You are a lying bitch. I can hear the bells!” Monica meant the school’s carillon, the tower bells that chimed out a silvery melody at the hour change. For some weird reason, it was playing Christmas music. Maybe somebody had forgotten to change over—or just really liked “O Holy Night.” “Where are you—never mind, I see you. Stay right there.”

Monica hung up. Claire looked around and saw that Kim was filming her—and Monica was charging down the steps of the English Building, heading her way and trailed by an entourage like a comet’s tail. It wasn’t just Gina and Jennifer this time; she’d picked up two strange girls wearing designer spring dresses and cute shoes, and a couple of big football-type guys—bland and handsome and not too smart, just the way Monica liked them.

Claire considered running, but not if Kim was planning on gleefully filming the whole thing. She could live with the shame. She just didn’t think she could live with the reruns on YouTube.

Monica had gone with a floral pattern minidress, and it looked great on her; she hadn’t let her tan go during the winter, and her skin looked healthy and glowy and toned. She strode up to Claire and came to a halt a couple of feet away, surrounded by her fashion army.

It was like being menaced by a gang of Barbie and Ken dolls.

“You,” Monica said, and leveled an accusatory, perfectly manicured finger at her. Claire focused on the hot pink nail, then past it to Monica’s face.

“Yes?”

“Come here.”

And before Claire could even think about protesting, Monica had her wrapped up in a hug.

A hug.

With Monica.

Claire got control of herself, at least enough to grab Monica by the arms and push her back to a safe distance. “What the hell?”

“Bitch, you are the best. Seriously, I cannot believe it!”

Monica was . . . excited. Happy. Not about to beat her up.

Wow. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what are you on?”

Monica laughed, reached into her messenger bag, and pulled out a stapled two-page paper. It was an economics test.

And it had, written in the corner in red, A.

“That’s what I’m on,” she said. “Do you know how long it’s been since I got an A? Like, ever? My brother is going to fall over.”

Claire handed the paper back. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Monica’s good mood faded, replaced by her more-normal bitch face. “I guess I got my money’s worth, anyway.”

For some reason, Claire thought about Shane paying Eve to clean his room. “There’s a lot of that going around, trust me. Okay then. We’re good?”

“For now,” Monica said. “Stay available. I’ve got other classes I suck at.”