“Tell your parents it was me,” I urge. “That way, you won’t have to move.”

She sighs, an exhalation that moves through her entire body. “I’m not going to do that.”

“How come?”

“Because in sixth grade, when my mom said I had to put lettuce on my peanut butter sandwich, you didn’t laugh at me. You even took a bite and said it was delicious.” The words roll out of her. “Because in eighth grade you had a crush on Ryan Park. I know because you wrote his name over and over in your notebook. And still, you set me up with him. You stood by and were nothing but supportive when we dated for the next year.” She takes a shaky breath. “Last semester, when I was flunking history, you tutored me every day after school. Even when you were sick. Even when you had to take the SATs the next day.”

Her eyes catch the sunlight. They’re more than glittery now. They’re glossy with unshed tears—or maybe that’s just the sheen of liquid bathing my own eyes. “I don’t know why you put that marijuana in my locker, but you are—you used to be—a good friend. Up until a few days ago, the very best.” She swallows. “The colleges will ask if you’ve ever committed a crime. One time, after an Avengers marathon, we were giddy from Tony’s snark and Cap’s smile—”

“And Thor’s abs,” I interrupt. “Can’t forget those.”

“Yes. Thor’s incredibly ripped six-pack.” She smiles faintly. “You confessed to me that your secret wish was to follow Archie. Your wildest dream, one that you never told anyone else, was to get into Harvard. A guilty plea will affect that.”

“I was practically drunk when I said that!” I protest. “A shirtless Chris Hemsworth would scramble anyone’s mind. Harvard’s never going to accept me…”

“You have to try,” she says fiercely. “Me? I’ll be happy going to any old college. So I’m not telling my family. The authorities don’t need to know. I just hope you find what you’re looking for.”

My heart is battered, each knock against my rib cage bruising it further and deeper. “Oh, Lalana, I don’t deserve you—”

“No. You don’t,” she cuts in. “Which is why you don’t get to keep me. We’re no longer friends, Alice. I don’t forgive you. I’m just not willing to screw up your entire future. Got it?”

I nod despairingly. I have nothing else for her. No words, no actions. Not a single way to make any of this better.

“Don’t contact me again,” she says with finality. “That wasn’t my mom who texted you. It was me.”

With this pronouncement, she walks away. This time for good.