“I’m great!” Earlier, when she’d answered the door, I’d said it with a sincere look in my eyes. Then when we’d come up to her room and she’d asked again, I’d tossed it over my shoulder as I flipped through the latest issue of US Weekly. Now, I didn’t even look up, pawing through my purse for mascara.

From behind me on her bed, I heard Bee heave a sigh, and I fought back one of my own. It wasn’t that I wasn’t thankful for her concern. I was, honestly. But I didn’t want to talk about David to her or to anyone else right now. It was all... yucky. Stressing over the trials, worrying about David being an Oracle, dealing with Bee being back—happy as that last thing was. Thinking about the breakup was too much on top of all of that, and for now, I wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening. That shouldn’t be so hard, right? I mean, David and I had gone years and years practically hating each other. Surely, it wouldn’t be that tough to downshift to not being in love.

Too bad my eyes stung as soon as I thought of the word “love.”

I located my mascara and did my best to act like all the blinking I was doing had everything to do with makeup application and nothing to do with David Stark.

“I’m super excited about the fair tonight!” I chirped, and Bee met my gaze in the mirror.

She sat up, tossing her own magazine back onto her nightstand and frowning. “Okay, now I know you’re not okay, because you are never ‘super excited about the fair.’”

“What are you talking about?” I scoffed, sliding the mascara wand back into its tube. “There are rides and lights and cotton candy. You have to be some kind of Nazi not to like cotton candy.”

Bee’s brown eyes narrowed. “And there’s also the smell of manure and dudes who wear trucker hats, and more chewing tobacco than you can spit at.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Get it? Spit? Because chewing—”

Holding up a hand, I stopped her before the thought could make me any more nauseated. “I got it. And you’re right, I’m not a fan of those things.” With that, I turned, bracing my hands on the little vanity. Bee’s room had been the envy of every girl we knew... when we were eight. For some reason, she’d never gotten around to redecorating, and while I definitely understood the allure of a canopy bed, it was always a little weird seeing all six feet of Bee on a pink swiss-dotted bedspread.

“What I am a fan of,” I continued, crossing my ankles, “is spending time with you. I need a good girls’ night.”

Bee’s eyes darted away from mine.

“What?” I asked.