Then she kisses me, and it’s a tiny respite from the shitstorm of awfulness that I’ve been living in for the last twenty-four hours. “I’m glad I found you,” she says when we break apart. Her face is creased with a concern that I find both adorable and touching. “I was looking for you to see if you wanted to go to potions club with me.”

“I’m glad you found me too,” I say, my insides still gooey from the kiss.

“Do you want to find a teacher? We can tell them what happened.”

That brings me back down to earth quickly. “No, I don’t think so,” I say, sighing. “Can we talk about the thing now?”

She quirks an eyebrow. “The big mysterious thing?”

“Yeah, that.”

We sit on the ground, our backs leaning against the outside wall of the cafeteria, and I muster up the courage to start my story. It’s just as difficult to tell her as I imagined. I explain everything—all the strange interactions I had with Mr. B, what I saw yesterday, the conversation I just had with Brittany. I’m so nervous that I keep tripping over my words.

At first Ana’s nodding along, and her brow is creased with sympathy. But when I get to the part about Mr. B offering to look at my application, all emotion drains from her face. I keep watching her for a reaction, but there is none. Once I finish, she just sits there, so still and silent that it’s like she’s turned to stone.

“Okay,” I say tentatively. “That’s everything. Any thoughts . . . or . . . ?”

“I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head slowly. “I think I need time to process this.”

“Yeah, I get that,” I say, even though I’m dying inside. What if she processes this and decides she hates me? What if she’s so freaked out that she never wants to speak to me again?

“I think—maybe—I’m a little mad at you,” she says, and my heart tumbles down a flight of stairs never to be seen again. “For doing all that shit to be his favorite. But I also feel like you’re a victim, and I’m not really allowed to be mad at you.” A flicker of frustration appears on her face. “Damn, he really knew how to press your buttons.”

I swallow hard. “Do you want to break up with me?”

“No,” she says vehemently. “It was so hard to date you in the first place, I’m not letting Mr. B and his bullshit ruin it.”

“Oh, thank god,” I say. Relief washes over me. “I was so nervous I thought I was going to die.”