I put the first scarf back and pulled out another, and once again thought about telling Bee the truth. I can’t do Cotillion because I have superpowers, but they suck. Because something is going to happen there that night that I don’t want to be involved with.

But I couldn’t say any of that. So instead, I played the one card I’d promised myself I would never, ever play. “Leigh-Anne,” I said. “It’s . . . too hard. Thinking about the year she did it . . .”

Bee didn’t say anything for a long time, and I wasn’t sure I had ever felt worse than I did at that moment. Damn it, I’d given up the whole Paladin thing. So why was it still messing up my life?

Bee appeared at my elbow. “Okay,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Then I won’t go either.”

I dropped the scarf. “Bee, you can’t—”

“I can,” she said, even as she threw one last lusting look at the shoes. “We always said we were going to do Cotillion together.”

Bee may have been the only person on earth more excited for Cotillion than I was, but she gave me a brave if entirely fake smile. “It’ll be fine. We’ll do, like, one of those anti-prom proms, only it’ll be an anti-Cotillion Cotillion. We’ll wear black dresses and hang out at my house watching bad movies and drinking bad punch.”

“It’ll be hard to find worse punch than my Aunt Jewel’s,” I said, and Bee’s smile got a little more real.

“We’ll manage,” she said. Then she stopped to pick up the scarf, placing it back on its shelf. “Now let’s go to the food court and eat our weight in Cinnabon.”

“You are the bestest best friend in all the world,” I said, looping my arm through hers.

“I know,” she said, squeezing my arm against her side. “And you in no way deserve me.”

I didn’t. Not even a little bit, and the truth of that lodged in my throat so that all I could do was squeak, “Yup.”

As we made our way through the mall, Bee and I chatted about Ryan and Brandon, and it could have been any other Saturday, if it weren’t for the constant gnawing of guilt. Staying away from the Starks was the best thing to do, which meant staying away from Cotillion. I didn’t want to ruin that for Bee, but it wasn’t like I’d asked her to give it up.

Suddenly, Bee came to a stop, pulling me up short, too. “Oh.”

“What?” I asked, following her gaze. And when I saw what she was looking at . . .

“Oh,” I echoed.

Mary Beth was standing in front of the Starbucks in the food court, sipping an iced coffee and smiling up at Ryan.