Piper puts one hand over her heart and holds up her other hand with four fingers separated in the middle to make the Star Trek Vulcan salute.

“Scout’s honor—”

I think about today, those girls finding me alone backstage, the hallways parting before me like a leprotic modern-day Moses, that clueless kid staring at my toe-thumb.

Maybe a friend isn’t the committee’s worst idea.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m free.”

Piper smiles and raises her fruit punch cup high in the air toward me.

“To finding a new normal!” She taps her cup to mine. “Whatever the hell that means.”

8

Cora practically wets herself when she hears I’m bringing home a friend. She tries to cram in a few minutes of bonding/interrogation time before Piper’s mom drops her off.

“I want to hear everything,” she says, patting the sofa cushion next to her.

She wants me to plunk down and tell her all about my new life, but I’m too drained from a full day of pretending to be stronger than I feel to dish out a play-by-play. If she were my mom, I’d plop next to her, inhale her vanilla-bean scent as she stroked my hair, and tell her every detail. Sara probably would have done the same.

“Come on,” Cora prods. “About school. Group. Everything.”

“All fine,” I say.

“I’ve been dying all day to hear what happened.”

“Let’s see. Principal is a jock. Most of the kids are jerks. And I am a joke.”

Cora frowns. “I’m sure they weren’t all jerks. What about this girl who’s coming over? She had a car accident, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, is she nice?”

“She’s weird.”

“Nice weird?”

“Weird weird.”

Cora studies me from the couch, her aggressive optimism rippling out in irritatingly hopeful waves. I duck into the kitchen to avoid exposure.

She talks louder. “So do you think you’ll stay?”

“Too early to know.”

“When will you know?”

“If it stops sucking, I’ll know.”

Cora intercepts me on my way back to my room and wraps me in a soft hug. When she steps back, her eyes glisten.

“You are an inspiration, Ava. A survivor, through and through.”

A knock on the door announces Piper, and I extricate myself from Cora’s embrace.

“So everyone keeps telling me.”

Glenn helps Piper’s wheelchair over the front step. Inside, he stops, evaluating the long staircase up to my bedroom.

Piper shifts in her chair with a weak smile. “No worries. I’m a first-floor kind of person anyway.”

Glenn’s eyebrows inch together as he shakes his head.

“Oh, I’ll get you there.” He studies the stairs and then Piper again. “Okay if I lift you?”