A small, strangled sound comes from Ava’s mouth and her eyes go wide. Sometimes it’s hard to tell if Danielle is trying to be funny or if she’s just mean. And lately, the mean has gotten a lot meaner.

“I’m not going with Ryder to any more dances,” Ava says.

“That’s what you said last year,” Danielle says, tilting her head. “But then . . . wait, tell me again about the fall ball?” She takes a bite of her salad and smiles.

Ava looks stung. “Well, maybe I’ll go with Chase this year if you’re not.”

Danielle laughs. “Do you actually think he’d ask you?”

Ava clenches her smoothie and backs away from the table. Her mouth opens and closes a few times like she has something to say, but then she sighs and turns around, storming away from the table.

“Lighten up,” Danielle says, “I was just kidding.” She sighs and stands, following Ava out of the cafeteria. I hate watching them act like this, but I don’t know what I could do to make anything better. Danielle wouldn’t listen to me.

“Promise me you’ll always be nice to me,” Hannah says once they’re gone.

“No matter what,” I say.

She swirls her straw in her drink. “So you really don’t think you’re going to ask him?” We’re back on James Dean. “You don’t have to tell him anything you don’t want to.”

“I don’t know.” I bite into a crouton, picturing Dean in a tux, and it’s kinda beautiful. But then I remember the relief that flashed across his face when I told him I wasn’t a virgin, and the image pops.

“You’ll be fine. Beautiful unicorn princess, remember?”

“I’m a lying, idiot princess.”

“Well, at least you’re still a princess,” she answers. “That counts for something. Just ask him, okay?”

We get let out of French early because Madame Deschenes has a headache, so Hannah and I take our time in the bathroom after class and then head to the senior lounge. It’s mostly empty, except for some of the guys in our French class. When we walk in, Andrew and Edwin are huddled over by the window with Ryder and Simon Terst. I say bonjour to them, but no one answers me. They’re all focused on something on the wall I can’t see, pointing and whispering in a way that can only mean something bad.

“What does it say?” Simon asks from the outside the circle, trying to break through. Ryder is blocking his view of whatever they’re looking at because he’s practically seven feet tall.

“It’s so gross, man,” he says to Simon by way of explanation.

“What’s going on?” I ask. Andrew steps aside so I can see. Someone has taken a Sharpie to the wall and written a message in thick black ink.