“What are you getting at?” Esther lowered the top she’d been holding up to stare at Susan in suspicion. “Me and Vectra talk all the time.”

“Really? Because you’ve been so-called ‘friends’ for weeks, and she didn’t even tell you she was in a band. Friends tell friends things.”

“You don’t.” Esther looked smug, like she’d scored a point in a playful debate.

“I—” Susan floundered for a moment; it was as if Esther had just pushed her off a diving board, not realizing that there were sharks circling below, and Susan had forgotten how to swim. “Well. But, I will. I do. I told you about McGraw.”

“Eventually.” Esther was concentrating on folding her clothes, lips pursed primly, eyes down, so that there was no way she could see the effect her words were having.

“Opening up . . . emotionally”—the word tasted so strange, Susan had to spit it out—“is not the same as not even bothering to tell you about my hobbies.”

“You don’t talk to me about those, either.”

“Because I don’t have any!” The desperate edge that had crept into Susan’s voice finally caught Esther’s attention. “I talk to you about important things. I let you take me shopping, and I carry you back from Halloween parties, and I make sure you don’t run out of birth control. Those are friend things. Things that someone who cares about you would do.”

Susan didn’t do those things for just anyone. She did them for Esther, and she’d do them for Daisy.

“Vectra would do those things!”

“You unwholesome loaf! Vectra wouldn’t. You wanted independent verification of whether or not Vectra likes you. Well, she doesn’t. She doesn’t like anyone or anything—the woman is awful. She’s mean to everyone around her, she calls you ‘Grooty,’ and I’ve never heard her say so much as one single nice thing to you.”

“You’re one to talk!”

Neither of them said anything then. Something screamy and sad was playing in the background, and there was a creak from the floorboards of the room above. The lacy purple top in Esther’s hand was scrunched into a tight little ball, her eyes blazing angrily across the room at Susan.

“What was that supposed to—” Susan began before knowing that she didn’t want to hear the answer. “No. Actually. Don’t say anything.”

Susan slid from the desk and stepped carefully back to the door.

“I’ve Anatomy to be studying, anyway. Did you want anything from the kitchen?”

“No, thank you.” Esther’s voice was cold and hard, each word a rock dropped in Susan’s stomach, making every movement that much heavier.

“Right. Well, if you wanted someone to come to the gig with you . . .”

“I think Ed Gemmell’s going.”