Before Piper can affirm that yes, I am a huge coward, Kenzie walks across the stage toward us, her eyes glued to Piper.

“What are you doing here?” she says.

Piper doesn’t look up, almost like she’s waiting on one of us to defend her presence. She glares at Asad, who stares intently at the canvas. Piper mutters under her breath before turning to Kenzie.

“Free country,” she says. “I’m here with Ava.”

Kenzie’s eyes shift from me to Piper and back again.

“So when you said you didn’t want to do drama anymore, you meant you didn’t want to do it with me?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Piper says.

“Can we at least talk abo—”

“Nothing to talk about,” Piper says. “Don’t worry, I won’t rock your world by rolling back into your precious drama troupe. You can continue to forget the whole thing ever happened.”

Kenzie stares down at Piper, her face softening slightly.

“That’s not fair, Piper,” she says quietly, blinking away the tears in her eyes before they escape.

Piper half laughs and mock applauds. “Bravo! Two thumbs way up for this award-winning performance. Encore! Encore!”

And just like that, Kenzie’s momentary softness vanishes, replaced by her usual tightly pinched scowl. She folds her arms across her chest and huffs past me to prop open the backstage door with a classroom chair.

“It smells like a morgue back here.” She looks right at me when she says this, then adds, pointing to my wig, “Don’t let her fool you, Ava. When she’s done playing dress-up, Piper will only look out for one person. Fair warning: it won’t be you.”

She turns on her heel, kicking the extra paintbrushes as she goes.

“Save the drama for the stage, right?” Piper says after she’s gone.

I nod. “Seriously. She’s the one who wanted you gone in the first place.”

Piper turns back to her green skyscrapers.

“Technically speaking, I quit. I am not about to spend my time where I’m not wanted, and trust me, she did not want me. No one wants the sad cripple around bumming everyone out.”

Asad finally looks up from his painting. “Nobody said you weren’t wanted.”

Piper gasps and raises her hands heavenward.

“It’s a miracle! Your selective mutism has passed! Funny how you never shut up when you’re with us, but someone a few rungs higher on the social ladder appears and suddenly you’re at a loss for words.” She turns to me, gesturing her paintbrush toward my wig. “And you. I don’t care if you wear that thing or not, you know. I was just trying to help.”

I straighten the hair on my head, which has crept down my forehead while I was painting.

“I might be beyond help.”