A thought bubble above the dragon’s head reads Must not scorch ticket! And a Friday ticket to The World Over is stuck through a slit in the paper between the dragon’s teeth. Below that Zoe wrote, “Please come? Love, Zoe.”

Love.

My stomach turns inside out and upside down.

My mind chases itself in circles, comparing facts that don’t add up to anything I understand:

She’s statistically straight.

But she broke up with Hunter.

She’s out of my league.

But she said she loved me.

This invitation means something, doesn’t it? The effort she went through to draw something for me, the single ticket, like maybe she’ll sit with me if she’s not backstage. . . . The possibilities make me hope for so many things I never thought I could.

I pull out my phone and send her a message: *has Humphrey burn a hole through Friday’s previously scheduled events* There weren’t any, but she probably already knew that.

Zoe: *hopes this means you’re coming*

Me: *wouldn’t miss it for Starworld*

Zoe: *would miss almost ANYTHING for Starworld* See you at lunch in the usual spot?

My stomach flutters. That’s how much Starworld means to her. How much I mean to her.

She’s even still coming to eat with me most of the time, which I barely believe until I round the corner of the sci-fi section and she’s there already laying out the day’s lunch fuck-ups: Cheetos, peanut butter, a chunk of blue cheese, and a few packets of Diablo Taco Bell hot sauce she must have grabbed from her now-infinite stash. Plus a container of curried chicken salad with grapes — enough to share.

“Hey!” She brightens when she sees me.

I flop down next to her and pull out my brown paper bag. “Let’s see what color we have today,” I say. I groan when I peer inside. “Green.”

“Oh my god. What is that?” she asks when she sees my sandwich.

“Looks like green hummus, sprouts, cucumber, and avocado,” I say. “At least the bread isn’t green . . .”

Zoe laughs. “Things could always be worse.”

I pull out green tortilla chips (which I actually don’t mind), celery, and some maybe-lime butter cookies sprinkled with green sugar.

“Who even eats celery?” I ask. “It’s the most pointless vegetable of all time.”

“But it can be a vessel for better things,” Zoe says, already reaching for it. “Crispy buffalo-wing celery? Coming right up.”