I don’t get any more texts from her after that. She’s right, I guess. The communes don’t seem so bad. The news on TV makes them out to look like cults, but when you see photos, it’s just a bunch of people living out some crunchy hippie fantasy. But still, I can’t believe she would even joke about running away to one of them.

She doesn’t reply when I change the subject and tell her about Ana ignoring me either. Eventually I give up and return to practicing the dance.

Shimmy. Stupid arm move. Hate myself. Spin. As I turn, I catch a glimpse of a person standing in the doorway. I stop mid-spin, almost tripping over myself.

It’s Ana. Of course. We stand there, silently staring at each other for a few long seconds.

“Can I get to the sink?” she says, her face studiously blank. She lifts the water bottle she’s holding, as if to explain her presence.

“Are you ignoring me or something?” I say as she brushes by me.

She stops and looks at me over her shoulder. “Isn’t that what you want?”

I open my mouth and close it again wordlessly, which I’m sure makes me look really intelligent. I don’t know what I expected her to say, but that wasn’t it. “I thought you wanted to be friends?”

“I did, but I realized that you didn’t,” she says as she goes to the sink.

“Are you mad at me?” I say incredulously. The only response I get is the sound of water filling her bottle. “You’re mad at me.”

“I woke up yesterday, and it actually sank in that you hated me. Which, you know, didn’t feel great.”

Okay, she has a point. But I don’t understand how she did such a 180 from the way she acted two days ago. “But you said you wanted to be friends,” I say, and the words come out with such a bratty tone that I’m embarrassed for myself.

“I’m not super good at figuring out how I feel right away, okay?” She switches off the water and goes to leave.

This can’t be it. We’re going from enemies to possible friends to just . . . nothing? A knot of frustration grows in my chest, making it hard for me to think. I grab her elbow as she passes me, then immediately let go and step back.

She turns, a single eyebrow arched questioningly. I flush as she meets my eyes.

“Can you help me with the choreography?” I blurt out. Wait, no, that’s not what I should say. I drop my gaze to the floor. “I mean, I’m sorry?”