Asad wheels her out into the middle of the room, where he continues his gyrations and Piper does a hand jive from her seat. She squeals like a kid when Asad whips her chair in a circle.

Sage makes her way toward me, also dressed in skintight jungle spandex with cat ears.

“Ava. That is the best costume.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I figure why not use my natural talents, right?”

“You’ve got my vote!” She holds her cup to me in celebration but lowers it as Piper rolls next to us. Sage’s eyes—and smile—shift to the floor.

“Hey, Pipe,” she says. “How are you?”

Piper cuts her off, raising her hand between them.

“Careful. You’re under strict Kenzie surveillance.” She nods over to the other room, where Kenzie watches us from her perch atop her puppy/boyfriend.

Sage shakes her head.

“It’s not like that. Maybe you guys can still work this out.”

“No thanks,” Piper says. “Life’s much better out of that particular shadow. You should try it. You’d be amazed at how little you care about what she thinks once you get a mind of your own.”

Piper grabs both my hands, spinning us into the middle of the room and away from Sage. I hold tight to her, knowing if I let go I’ll slink back toward the wall.

“So, is he here?” Piper asks.

“Who?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Ava Lee. The drama boy.”

I shake my head, still not ready to tell Piper it’s Asad, or even admit it out loud at all.

“Don’t see him.”

When the song stops, Asad beckons us into the hallway to tell us that I’m in the lead by a long shot in costume votes.

“And guess what. The costume prize is two Wicked tickets!” Excitement lights up his eyes. “As you know, Wicked was one of the most influential plays of my young life.”

“Who talks like that?” Piper asks. “Seriously, were you born a fifty-year-old man-child or is this something you’ve fine-tuned over the years?”

Asad laughs.

“Life’s full of mysteries, Piper. Like how someone so beautiful can be so cruel.”

A group of Lion King lionesses squeeze past us in the hallway.

Asad whispers, “Okay, you didn’t hear it from me. Act surprised!”

A gong sounds from the living room, prompting a migration. I move with the wave, telling myself to ignore the excitement welling in my chest. It’s just a silly contest.

On the fireplace ledge, Kenzie holds a glass bowl filled with pieces of paper and two Wicked tickets. Asad shoots me a thumbs-up.

“Okay, everybody. As you all know, the costume contest is judged by your peers.” She shakes the bowl. “We’ve tallied all these votes and the winner is—” Kenzie nudges her puppy, who perks up and does a drumroll on the coffee table.

“Riley Jones!”