It took me a second to remember that I’d promised to text her, and why. Oh, right, the ugly scene at Cotillion practice. “Ugh, I’m sorry. I went over to Ryan’s last night, and I left my phone in the car.”

Bee pushed away from her car, tugging her knit hat a little farther down over her forehead. “Are you guys okay?”

The words “Of course!” immediately leapt to the tip of my tongue, but I bit them back. Bee deserved better than that. “We’re trying to be.”

Kids were walking past us and up the stairs into Wallace Hall. I caught a glimpse of Mary Beth’s reddish hair before she disappeared into the building. Bee must’ve seen her, too, because she paused on the steps. “Mary Beth had it totally wrong yesterday. You and Ryan are perfect together, and you know that.”

“Are we?” I heard myself ask, and Bee’s head jerked up like I’d smacked her.

“What?”

“It’s only . . .” I thought about last night, sitting in Ryan’s bedroom, me on the computer, him tossing his basketball, sitting four feet apart, but feeling like there was an ocean between us. “I love Ryan, but—”

“There are no buts,” Bee said, taking my hand. “You said it yourself. You love him.” She shrugged. “That’s all that matters.”

“You’re right,” I said, even though I wasn’t really sure that she was. And when she added, “Besides, you guys have to get married, and then Brandon and I will get married, and we’ll all live next door to each other, and our kids will play together . . .”

She was smiling, and when she bumped my hip with hers, I knew she wasn’t totally serious, but I couldn’t make myself smile back. I wasn’t an Oracle, but even I knew that future was . . . wrong.

Bee lowered her head. “You know, I was thinking last night. Don’t get me wrong, your lessons with Saylor are really awesome. I mean, the other day, when she taught you how to disarm someone with a knife? Even I wanted to learn that.”

I smiled at the memory of last week, Bee sitting in the grass of Saylor’s backyard, her long legs stretched out in front of her, cheering me on as Saylor put me through my paces.

“And I get why you’re keeping it a secret,” Bee went on once we were inside the school. The burnt-hair smell of the ancient heaters assaulted my nose, and the squeak and click of hundreds of shoes filled my ears. “But . . . Harper, if it’s making people think you and David Stark have something going on, is it worth it? I mean, do you even need any more lessons? You looked pretty freaking skilled the last time I watched you.”