“Yeah, I feel like that in our apartment sometimes, and there are only three of us.”

“I’m hoping I’ll get into a licensing college right away so I don’t have to stick around here after graduating,” she says quietly. “They’ll have a lot more room if I’m gone.”

For a moment, I wish that both of us could get the scholarship. Ana deserves it. She’s doing just as much as I am, without as much help from her parents. And I totally get wanting to succeed and help make things easier for your family.

Ana takes a spray bottle marked HAIR DRYER and spritzes my head a few times. I’m immediately blinded by the fog that forms around my head as all the remaining water evaporates from my hair. Once the fog dissipates, I stare silently at myself in the mirror for a few moments.

“It looks . . . kind of good,” I say. My curls are all defined and bouncy. Even the tightly coiled curls near the nape of my neck seem to be behaving somewhat.

“You’re welcome,” Ana says smugly. “Now you just need to keep using a de-frizzing potion on it regularly and not fry it so much with the flat iron. And don’t ever let someone transfigure your hair to be straight, because that will fuck it up forever.”

I keep playing with my curls as we return to Ana’s room. Caro is gone when we get there. Ana sits cross-legged on her bed, and I hover awkwardly for a second before sitting across from her.

“It’s getting kind of late,” Ana says, wiping stray drops of water off her neck. She didn’t feel like drying her own hair, so her bun is still wet. “You can sleep over if you want,” she offers. “You can borrow pajamas and stuff.”

I want to say yes, but then I remember how unlikely it is that Mom will let me sleep over. “I don’t think so.”

“Sick of me?” she says teasingly.

“Duh,” I say. “No, my parents—well, my mom . . .” I trail off, not sure how I want to explain this.

“They’re strict?” she supplies.

“No. Well, sort of.” I look down at my lap, tapping my fingers uncomfortably on my knees. Say something, Shay. Anything. The truth, maybe. “Well, um, so.” I glance at her, and she arches an eyebrow at me questioningly. My brain scrambles. “I’m a lesbian,” I blurt out.

Okay, I could have introduced that more smoothly.

Ana nods. “Yeah.” The utter lack of surprise in her voice throws me for a loop.

“You . . . knew?”

“I mean, yeah,” she says, her thick eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “I didn’t think it was a secret? You have a rainbow flag in your Twitter bio. And you . . .” She trails off, then switches tactics. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, sorry. I can drive you home now.”