“Nice,” she says. The air around us heats as she summons little bursts of flames. They float around us, looking like hundreds of flickering candles. When she dips me, the tendrils of fire in my way wink out of existence with a small hiss. When Kevin leads me through this part, I always end up a little singed. But with Ana, it’s perfect.

A few more steps, and we’re done. The floating fires go out all at once. “How do you know Kevin’s parts?” I say, stepping away from her. I wipe my sweaty hands on my shorts.

A small smile appears on her face. “I’ve watched Brittany go over it a million times with you guys. I can fake it pretty well by now.”

“Oh.” Ugh, Brittany. I guess, for once, her singling me out in rehearsal all the time has a benefit.

“Rehearsal is starting soon. We should go,” she says, but she doesn’t move. She smiles at me tentatively, and her dimple deepens on her cheek. “So you do want to be friends? You’re not just using me for my dance experience?”

“Well, the dance experience is a big perk,” I say. She makes direct eye contact with me, putting her hand on her waist, and I get the sense that she’s going to wait for me to say what she wants to hear. “I mean, yeah. We should, um, try the friends thing.”

She laughs. “Wow, you’re blowing me away with your excitement here.”

“I’m—yeah, okay,” I say, because my brain has stopped working right when I need it most. “Woo! Friendship!” I shake my hands in a sad imitation of jazz hands.

“Okay, that was extremely convincing,” she says dryly. She turns to leave but pauses briefly. “I’m still kind of mad.”

“Um, okay,” I say.

“Okay.” With that, she leaves the room. I stand there after she’s gone, staring at the door blankly. I guess we’re friends now?

Chapter 21

T. K. Anderson fosters a diverse, equitable, and inclusive environment where our students are affirmed and respected in their learning journeys. We believe that true excellence can only be achieved by embracing diverse perspectives.

—T. K. Anderson website

Looking at my hair in the mirror the next morning, I’m embarrassed by my own reflection. I blow-dried it after washing but gave up when the front section got all frizzy. Now my hair is five different textures, and none of them are cute. I doubt Mr. B is going to like this look I have going on. My lack of knowledge about curly-hair potions is killing me right now. When I did some research, I realized that the problem wasn’t that the potions I found were difficult to make—it was that I had no idea which one would work for my hair.