I don’t put conditions on it, don’t tell Lark that treatments aren’t final, don’t tell her that I can mix and match pretty much any of the various styles I have spread across these nine sheets. At this point, none of that matters, same as it didn’t matter at first with what I’d ended up doing with the letters Reid and I had gathered up on Saturday night. It only matters that Lark gets out of her own head for a few minutes.

“Am I allowed to use my phone?” Lachelle blurts. You’d think I’ve announced a ten-thousand-dollar prize. I should’ve known; Lachelle has a real competitive streak. Last year some of the local businesses along this street had a window-decorating contest for Halloween, and Lachelle had basically conscripted Cecelia—who’d really had no interest in this kind of contest—and I to work late into the night before the judging. When the shop got runner-up instead of first place, she accused the judges of vote tampering. Every once in a while she still brings it up. “Crooks,” she’ll say, shaking her head.

“Sure, why not?” I say, and before I have it all the way out Lachelle is tapping away, surely searching for how-to videos on paper airplane designs.

I start folding, using the kind of rudimentary tactics you learn in elementary school, and for a few seconds Lark simply looks back and forth between me and Lachelle, as if our different approaches are now the newest, freshest dilemma of her life. But eventually, she takes out her phone, and after a quick search she starts folding, too. Every once in a while Lachelle makes a noise of satisfaction; one time she says, “You’d better get yourself ready, Meg,” and Lark laughs softly.

By the time we line up behind the table, we’ve formed some kind of strange paper-airplane adversarial bond. Lachelle says I have “noodle arms” when my first attempt fails miserably. Lark puts a hand over her mouth when Lachelle squares up the first time like we’re on an actual Olympic field, and when Lachelle sees her doing it she says, “You won’t be laughing when I win, princess!” but that makes us all laugh harder. It’s clear that I am the worst at this game, which provides pretty good fodder for both of my competitors. I don’t really mind their teasing, but before I can stop myself I think about Reid again, guessing that all his math knowledge would probably make him an extremely skilled projectile designer. His broad shoulders, those would be good for the throwing.

But I shouldn’t be thinking about those.