“Besides,” I add, “if I stood up to every injustice, when would I find time to watch The Real Housewives?”

“It’s still not right,” he says with a weak smile. “Even if you are friends with Piper.”

I stand straight, not sure I heard him right.

“What does Piper have to do with anything?”

“You know…” Asad pauses and swallows hard. “Everything that happened on New Year’s.”

Asad waits like I’m supposed to understand what he’s talking about. I stare blankly back.

“How she and Kenzie were best friends and then they weren’t anymore and then you showed up and took her place, and from what I understand about girls—which I warn you is pathetically little—that’s like a big no-no.”

I put my hand out to stop him.

“Piper and Kenzie were friends? In what world?”

Asad lets out a long, low whistle as he shakes his head.

“Piper hasn’t told you any of this?”

“No. We have a pretty strict don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy.”

Asad blankets the auditorium in darkness by flipping all the switches with his palm. “It’s probably time to ask.”

15

That night, I do some reconnaissance on my phone. My first stop: the online profile I’ve avoided looking at since the fire.

I wasn’t technically lying to Piper about not being on social media—I’m not. At least, not this version of me.

In the small, circular selfie in the corner of the page, Ava Before the Fire grins in front of the enormous maple tree in our old yard. I don’t open my profile page. I made that mistake once in the hospital—took me an hour to scroll through all the aggressive commands to Get well soon! and the You’re a hero/inspiration/survivor comments. I never responded to any of them. What was there to say?

Besides, I kind of like that the old me still exists out there, untouched by fire and death and reality. Ava Before the Fire with her flawless skin and happy smile. That’s how I want her to stay, frozen in the amber of the interwebz.

So I don’t tap on my name or the red 153 in the corner announcing the backlog of messages from my old friends. I guess I want them to remember the old me, too.

A picture of Chloe pops up first on my feed. She’s straightened her wild hair and lost so much weight that I almost don’t recognize her sitting on the edge of our school’s theater, Emma and Stacy flanking her.

And then I’m down the rabbit hole. Pictures of all my old friends, still hanging out, going to Tommy’s Burgers & Shakes, hiking up the canyon, taking a bow on my stage.

My life, my friends, moving on without me.