“Speaking of which—” Asad straightens up. “That’s what I need to talk to you about.”

My chest deflates a little. Of course—he’s here to talk to her.

“There’s a vicious rumor going around that you’re not auditioning.”

“Not a rumor, my friend. Truth,” Piper says.

His smile falls along with his shoulders.

“You’re going to drop us, just like that? Where’s the loyalty?”

Piper backs up her chair, turning it abruptly to face him. She pops a clementine section in her mouth, chewing while she talks.

“Good question. If you find any shred of loyalty in that group, I want to be the first to know. Until then, I’m out.”

Asad starts saying something, but Piper cuts him off.

“I’m out!”

“All right, all right. Message received.” He holds up his hands and backs away slowly, stopping only to deliver another bow to me. “Ava. So glad to have a name to go with the face.”

For the second time with this kid, I can’t tell if he means his words as a subtle dig or he’s the poster child for social awkwardness. Before I can decide, the bell rings and Asad disappears into the wave of reenergized students barreling toward the door.

“What a doofus,” Piper says.

“He seems nice,” I say.

“This is high school. Nice is a death sentence.”

Piper’s eyes shoot across the crowd to a girl standing by the recycling bin, staring at me.

“Can we help you?”

The girl shakes her head quickly and rushes out the doors, still holding her lunch tray. A few other girls nearby giggle. My face heats up again, my neck itching like wildfire.

“Well, that’s not going to help us fade into the background,” I say.

Piper yanks backward on her wheels, grinding to a stop before we reach the door. She looks up at me quizzically.

“Who said anything about fading away?”

10

For the next two weeks, Piper and I walk/roll the gauntlet together. At first I think we’ll double the spectacle—two burned girls, one in a wheelchair with striped neon skin and one with no hair, no ear, and no hand—but our partnership seems to lessen the stare factor. Maybe people are used to seeing Piper?

Or maybe everyone has had their initial gander at the Burned Girl, and soon, some other weirdo will get top billing. They won’t even see me anymore.

Or maybe it’s because Piper is straight-up ruthless.

When a scrawny-looking boy shamelessly points at me one afternoon of my second and final week, Piper runs her wheelchair over his foot.

“Picture for your spank bank?” she says, one hand behind her head like she’s in a pinup calendar. He practically nose-dives into the crowded hallway to escape her.