“No.” Missing Nadia was like a chronic ache inside me, especially at moments like this, because Tegan was trying to be friendly, but she was no substitute for the friend I’d lost. That wasn’t what was keeping me up at night, though.

Tegan’s gray-blue eyes landed on me hard. “Lela, are you okay? I mean, I thought you were, but then … what happened on Saturday?”

I closed my eyes, wishing I hadn’t been too wrecked to come up with a decent cover story. “I … the smell in that kitchen started to make me feel sick, so I went outside to get some air. I, um, got jumped. By a guy. I didn’t have my wallet. So he … beat me up and left me there.”

Tegan’s eyes grew huge and shiny, filled with righteous anger. “You got mugged? You texted me to get Malachi for you and didn’t even mention that?” Her little fist banged against her steering wheel, causing the horn to let out a high-pitched yip. “Was it one of those homeless people? Could you pick them out of a lineup?”

I rubbed at my temples, my head feeling like it was going to split open. “Slow down, Tegan. I don’t … it’s okay. Can we drop it? I’m fine, and I shouldn’t have been wandering around alone anyway. Serves me right.”

She shifted in her seat and tapped her long fingernails on the bottom edge of the steering wheel. “You—you aren’t involved in anything illegal, right?”

I shook my head but couldn’t look at her.

“You’re not taking drugs or something, are you?” she whispered.

“What? Are you crazy? Did Nadia tell you anything about me?”

She shrank back in her seat. “All right, I’m sorry.” Her face was super pale. She looked like she was about to faint. “Nadia did tell me you thought drugs were stupid and everything, but I thought maybe, you know, when she died … never mind.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “I … went to her grave yesterday.”

I sank back in my seat. I hadn’t been since the funeral, but that would sound heartless to anyone who didn’t know what I’d gone through to make sure Nadia was all right.

“I hated you,” Tegan blurted, and then looked straight-up startled at the sound of her own voice. She cleared her throat. “I still hate you, a little.”

Once again, I found myself regretting that Tegan’s therapist had once told her she should bond with me. I leaned forward, all her rude comments over the past year running through my head. “You brought me coffee so you could tell me that? I never did anything to you. Except to hate you, too, but that was because you were such a bitch to me.”

“I know.”

“Why, then? Is it because I don’t come from money? Because I wasn’t raised like you?”