I chew on my lower lip, unsure what to do. But then Syd notices what I’m doing and I’m busted. I rejoin them on the bed and nibble at the bits of pineapple and jalapeño that one of them — Syd, probably — pulled off and left in the box. After a while, I’m actually kind of forgetting myself and starting to laugh at Syd’s impressions of the teachers at school when my mom knocks on my door. Erin quickly shoves the vodka bottle under the towel.

“Zoe?” my mom says, poking her head in. She opens the door wider and holds out a paper bag. “I found this at the front door.”

“Maybe it’s from Hunter,” Syd says as I get up to take the bag.

It’s not from Hunter. I can tell right away because my name is written on the bag in a beautiful, sparkly purple script. I’d know it anywhere.

There is a large laminated poster poking out of the top, plus a huge Ziploc of something. I’m afraid to take it out in front of everyone. I don’t know what it is, or how my friends might react. The idea that it might be something that embarrasses or humiliates Sam sends a wave of panic through me, but before I can figure out how to avert disaster, Erin is peering into the bag. “What’s this?” She pulls out the poster and my heart stops.

“Jesus,” Syd mutters, staring at it with an expression that brings to mind her awful remark in the car — that girl’s weird as shit.

“Zoe?” Mom says, stepping closer.

I stare at the work of art in Erin’s hands, the world going gray and hazy around its splendor. I have never seen anything so beautiful. So bright. So fantastical. So astonishing.

“Oh my god. Is it Sam Jones?” Erin asks. “It is, isn’t it? She does paintings like that — I had her in an art class a couple years ago.”

My mom steps over to look at it, shooting me a questioning glance. I can feel everyone’s gaze on me.

“Did she, like . . . draw that for you?” Syd asks. Her tone does nothing to conceal how weird she thinks that idea is.

“It’s for Jonah,” I say softly.

I know, because it’s birds. There are three of them, each one glittering with so much detail I can barely take it all in. The orange one in the center rises with wings of flame outstretched as though to cradle the others — one blue, like it’s made of water, and the other one green as a spring garden, gilded with blossoms in every color.

My mother’s eyes find mine. I see wonder and confusion in her expression, and I feel the squeeze in her heart about Jonah.

I am paralyzed, even as Cammie reaches into the bag and pulls out the Ziploc.