Her voice hardens with each word. Becomes so brittle, it might shatter. “I know you put the weed in my locker. There was a huge chip of your sparkly blue nail polish on the Ziploc bag.”

“Lalana…” I swallow hard. What can I say? Other than the drug use, everything she’s claiming is true. And I can’t lie to her. Not when I’ve put her through so much grief. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“Why?” Her glittering eyes imprison me. “Why would you do this? Were you so desperate not to get caught that you’d rather sell out your best friend?”

“No! That’s not it at all!” The need to defend myself, to explain, overwhelms me. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I would never… Not unless I had to. Do you understand? I can’t explain now. But I will someday. I promise. When I can, I’ll tell you everything—”

She stands, cutting off my babbling. “Goodbye, Alice.” The words sink like lead to the bottom of my stomach. She shoves the butterfly at me. “Here, take this. You thought it was beautiful, and I’m not taking a present from some creepy secret admirer to California.”

“Wait.” I reach for her, but she’s already walking away. “Why are you still moving? Aren’t you going to tell everyone the truth?”

“No.” She continues walking.

“Is it because of the future?” I’m pleading now. Straight-up begging. “How are you connected to this mess? You asked me to stay away from Bandit. Why? Are you on a mission, too?”

She turns. An expression I can’t read crosses her face, which is ridiculous. She’s my best friend. I know every one of her expressions. Annoyance when one of our ignorant classmates ask her “what” she is, rather than “who.” Amusement when I claimed last winter that I was going to iron my clothes to stay warm. Shame when her parents argue in front of me. But this look—it’s like a haunting mash-up of all the emotions she’s ever displayed.

“I don’t know what mission you’re talking about,” she says slowly. “But I told you to stay away from Bandit because he knows secrets about my family. Secrets I didn’t want anyone to find out.” Her cheeks flush red under the brilliant sun. “My dad cheated on my mom, okay? That’s why he’s there and we’re here. Me finishing high school was just an excuse. And now, because of you, I screwed up my parents’ plan of saving face.”

“I’m sorry.” I grip the blown glass, its sharp wings digging into my palms. “But you could’ve told me. My dad cheated, too. I would’ve understood.”

She rubs her eyebrows. “It’s not you, Alice. This carefully crafted silence is cultural. We keep dirty secrets to ourselves. Locked up tight in the family vault.”