“Ooof,” I grunted as the door hit me. Someone had tried to come in just as I was trying to get out.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” the person said. Then, “Saoirse.”

“Izzy.” I was surprised to see her but I recovered, rearranging my open mouth into a polite but empty smile. “We have to stop nearly concussing each other like this.”

Rom-com, tragedy, slapstick. All I needed now was to meet a guy with knives for hands in the abandoned quarry and I could really round out my life-as-a-movie metaphor.

Izzy returned a small smile. I let a whole second of uncomfortable silence pass and then I tried to scurry out the door. She turned and put her hand on my shoulder.

“Wait a minute, will you?”

“Um . . . my dad is . . .” I gestured toward the car park.

“Please?” she said, a pleading note in her voice. “Just a second.”

It would be beyond rude to refuse. I eyed the door, considering a quick getaway anyway. My head said that was childish, but my legs were getting ready to spring into action. But damnit, I was just too nice to do that, so I waited while Izzy went into the office to collect her envelope. I took a seat on the bottom of the stairs that led to the art room and thought about how polite I was.

Then Izzy emerged from the office. She smiled shyly at me and took a seat on the stair next to me. Neither of us said anything for a second. She had new highlights in her hair from the last time we collided on the street. It looked really pretty. She also had a deep tan and I wondered if she’d got the lifeguard job she’d been applying for, unsuccessfully, for the last two years.

“I’m so mad at you,” she said finally.

“Wait, what? You’re mad at me?”

She nodded. She didn’t seem mad. She seemed really calm and collected.

“I’m really mad.”

“What do you have to be mad about?” I said, indignant.

“You ditched me, Saoirse,” she said.

“You—” I started to remind her of her gross betrayal of trust.

“Yes, I know I didn’t tell you that Hannah was thinking of breaking up with you. I know. You told me that. I heard you. I apologized a bunch of times. And I thought about it a lot and I get it. I know why you were mad, I do.”

I tried to interrupt again, but she held her hand up.

“Let me finish. I know why you were angry, but I don’t know why you couldn’t forgive me and I’m mad at you for that. We were friends for ten years and you decided I was nothing to you because I hurt you once.”

My mouth opened and closed like a goldfish as I scrambled for a defense.