“What do you want, Ava? An explanation? Is that it? I lied, okay? I sent those text messages so you’d stay away from Kenzie. Congratulations—you were right! I’m possessive and needy and jealous, and I couldn’t stand the thought of you being friends with her.”

“I don’t—”

“And then, guess what.” She cuts me off. “I liked it. It felt good to put down the truth of what everyone thinks.”

“You think everyone wishes you were dead?”

She pulls away from me when I try to touch her shoulder.

“I know they do.”

“You’re wrong.”

“And you’re stupid. Didn’t you hear what I said? I lied. I used you. I am a crazy, pill-guzzling maniac, and you should get as far away from me as possible.”

When I don’t move, she maneuvers her walker into the handicapped stall and slams the door, locking it tight.

“Go away!” she yells through the barricade. “You can’t fix me!”

I sink onto the tiled floor next to an overflowing trash can and pull my knees to my chest.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” I say. “I’m trying to tell you I love you. Scars and all.”

The kind of love I thought died with my parents. The kind I thought was gone forever when I saw my face.

Love without fine print.

Under the gap of the stall door, I see Piper flop to the floor, rubbing her thigh like she’s kneading sore muscles.

“Does it hurt?” I say.

“I’m fine.”

The bell rings, eliciting a sneaker squeak from the hall as kids hurry to class. Then it’s quiet. A sink drips deafeningly loud in the space between us. What would Dr. Layne do right now? What would Cora do?

Then it hits me: What would Piper do?

“ ‘She’s a phoenix in a flame,’ ” I say in half speech, half song.

“Don’t you dare use my Fire Mix against me,” Piper growls through the door.

I sing a little louder, pretending I don’t hear her.

“ ‘A hellfire raging from within—’ ”

Piper groans.

“We are way beyond cheesy fire songs. So. Just. Stop.”

I stand in the corner, my head tilted back so my voice echoes through the bathroom.

“ ‘Her story written on her skin.’ ”

Piper pounds on the stall wall, shaking the whole row.

“Stop singing! Stop pretending like everything is okay. Nothing is okay!”

My voice smashes out of me. “ ‘Once broken, now she flies.’ ”

While I sing, she screams.

And screams.

And when the scream runs out of air, she screams some more.

“They hate you! They won’t even touch you! You’re a joke. We both are.”

“ ‘Soaring—’ ”

“Freddy Krueger!” Piper shrieks. “Roadkill!”

“ ‘—above everything.’ ”

I’m scream-singing now, too. My voice barrels into the space between us.