“Nope, never doing it again,” Claudia says, way too fast. I stifle a laugh. I know I should tell them about the new note, but it’s so much easier to pretend that things are normal. “I told her I wanted to do it just to see how it would feel, and that’s what happened. Now I don’t need to worry about it ever again.”

“What if she wants to do it again, though?” I ask, playing with a strand of my hair. “Are you guys going to get into fights about it?”

“If she wants to fight about it, she can, but I’m not going to,” Claudia says. She always sounds so sure about everything. I love that about her. “I can’t be with someone who wants stuff that I can’t give, you know?”

“But it would suck if it doesn’t work out,” I say. “Because you love her and everything.”

“I do love her.” Claudia’s voice takes on an uncharacteristically dreamy quality. “I love her hair and her eyes and the way she laughs. I love the way she knows everything.” She pauses. “And her boobs. I love those, too. Maybe I’ll kiss them and that’ll be the sexual part of our relationship.”

“Oh my God,” Lydia says. “My mom could show up at any minute and see the look on my face. We don’t need a play-by-play.”

This time, I laugh. Lydia acts like her mom is going to drop dead if our conversations pass the PG-13 mark, but I have a feeling Lydia would be far more traumatized than Mrs. Wu.

“She won’t even know what we’re talking about if you don’t say anything,” I say, resting a hand under my chin. “Just try to stay smooth.”

As Lydia launches into a monologue about her family dog chewing her DivaCup, I switch to speaker mode. I have my Drama notebook on my bed, and pull it toward me. Every time we have a rehearsal, I try to come home and brainstorm solutions. This time, though, it’s taking all my brainpower to ignore the stupid note at the bottom of my backpack.

“I think we need to have another sleepover,” Claudia is saying. “I’m tired of living with my family. Lydia’s place is my favorite. No offense to you, Simone.”

“What’s wrong with my house?”

“Your dads are always lurking somewhere,” she says. “They want to talk and interact, and sometimes I just want to have girl time.”

I can’t blame her. When my parents get home, I’ll have to stay in my room if I want to avoid an interrogation. I hate that they can always tell when something is wrong. I hate Eric for putting me in this situation.