I glance back to where Caroline was standing, but it seems James dragged her out on the dance floor. She doesn’t even look too upset about it. Kitty and Will are flailing around to the beat, and Carlos is wandering toward the drink table with his face in his phone, bumping into people left and right. With the group dispersed, I’m on my own, so I find a chair in the darkest corner of the gym and plant myself to wait out the rest of this nightmare.

An hour later, I’m in an almost comatose state of space-out when my phone buzzes from where I stashed it in my bra.

It’s Mom — she’s sent a photo of what appears to be some cookies packaged in cellophane and tied with blue ribbon.

Someone left cookies on the front porch for you, the text reads. The tag says they’re from Zoe?

I can’t really process what I’m seeing. Zoe stopped by my house? To leave me cookies?

I slip out into the hallway, where it’s approximately a thousand degrees cooler and several magnitudes quieter. The scent of linoleum floods my nose as I take a deep breath and turn my text notifications back on.

There are so many messages from Zoe, I can hardly take them all in. It’s almost like she missed me, and, unexpectedly, my eyes sting. A lot of the time, I don’t feel like anyone would notice if I suddenly disappeared.

She apologized — a lot. And explained that Connor grabbed her phone without asking. But the messages that make me feel guiltiest are the ones from Thursday night, her last night with Jonah, her last night with her family whole. I know that feeling — the moment when you know everything is about to change in a way you hate, but you can’t do anything to stop it.

I lack the emotional capacity to respond to her messages with any level of articulation, so instead I write:

Um. My mom sent me a picture of these incredibly perfect cookies and said a girl named Zoe dropped them off?

Her response comes like lightning. I wanted you to know how sorry I am. I hope they work for your mom. The stars have six points, and I grouped them into fours . . .

My heart feels like it’s pounding so loud, surely people can hear it over the pulsing bass reverberating from the gym. I write: *stares* Holy shitkettles. You really pay attention. *is at Homecoming in a very unfortunate costume, so things were already pretty surreal*

Zoe: Your mom said you were at the dance. That was surprising!

Me: *is desperately searching for the escape hatch* Anyway, thanks for the cookies.

I can’t believe she took the time to make something just for me.

Zoe: I really am so sorry.

I exhale a long breath. Her friends were dickweeds, but I was, too.