“We started fighting because I was always ditching you guys,” I say, running a hand through my curls. “And I made it worse by accusing you. I’m sorry for being such a bitch.”

“You’re not a bitch,” she says. I can tell that she means it. “Listen, we were all upset with each other. We thought you were ignoring us because of Miles, but you were dealing with so much. You still are dealing with a lot, and I don’t wanna stomp on your feelings. It just…It hurt that you thought we could be the ones leaving those notes.”

“I know,” I say, leaning against the sink. “It’s just, when Sarah told last time, I never would’ve thought—” I swallow, tears clogging my throat.

“You trusted her,” she says, voice soft. “She was your first.”

“Yeah. She was.” I swallow. “I guess I just…I figured that if she could do something like that, maybe you guys would. I don’t know. It’s…”

“It’s a lot,” she says, quiet. “I get it.”

“Yeah.” I nod once, forgetting that she can’t see me. “But you’re right. We should talk about it. You can come over, if you want.”

“Can I bring Claudia?”

I pause. All I can think about is Claudia accusing me of faking.

“She really wants to apologize,” Lydia says, like she’s reading my mind. “But I can come by myself, if you want.”

“No, it’s okay,” I say. My entire family is here, along with Brie and Jack, still absorbed in the show. I guess Ralph counts, too. If Claudia has something negative to say, I can turn to the rest of them. “You should both come.”

“Oh? Okay. That’s good!” I can hear her smiling through the speaker. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.” My voice cracks. “I’ll open the door for you.”

I’m expecting both of them to be out on the porch when the bell rings fifteen minutes later, but I open the door to see Claudia standing alone. Her eyes lock on me. She swallows. Even I’m nervous, wiping sweaty hands on my jeans. She glances back toward her car, probably at Lydia, before turning back to me.

“Why’d you let me come?” she asks, shoving her hands in her pockets. “I didn’t think you would.”

My eyes are focused on her hair. It’s shorter, almost like Anne Hathaway’s in Les Mis. She must’ve cut it recently. I’m sure her parents gave her hell once they saw. There’s a pang in my chest at the thought, but I force myself not to look away.

“I honestly don’t know,” I say, shrugging. “I’m surprised you came.”

She stares at me for a long minute. If she’s expecting me to say anything else, she’s out of luck.