“I actually have a dress from my cousin’s wedding a couple of years ago,” I said, backing into the dressing room. “I’ll just wear that.” I didn’t know why I hadn’t already thought of it. The dress had a lacy lavender bodice and a long, flowy skirt. It would make a perfectly fine pretending-to-go-to-Winter-Formal dress.

Isabel’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Are you sure?” Margot said, examining the velvet ribbon. “This one looks amazing on you.”

“Yeah. The other dress fits me better.” I shut the dressing room door and shed the dress as quickly as I’d put it on, wondering why I’d let myself pick it out in the first place.

I was still thinking about the dumb dress as I sat outside the redbrick Variations building, waiting for Josie’s class to end. Through a large ground-floor window, I glimpsed bodies dashing through the air to a strong drumbeat.

I couldn’t help noticing how different it was from KDBS. Not just the movements but the dancers themselves. The class was still mostly white, because our town was mostly white. But there were more students of color in this class than in any at KDBS. And the teacher was Asian-American. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered Josie mentioning that. All of a sudden, what Josie had said about Kira that night I spilled water on her science project popped into my head. Maybe you should be glad you’re not dancing for her anymore.

I turned up the heat and shook the thought away.

I spotted Josie in the back of the room as a small group did the combination in front. She was whispering with a boy instead of practicing. When it was her group’s turn to go, she hesitated a bit on the last few steps, probably because she couldn’t remember them. A mistake that could have easily been fixed if she’d bothered to go over the combination. She clearly didn’t take class seriously. And yet she got to be there, dancing, while I sat out here, waiting to drive her home.

The jealousy bomb stirred in my stomach. I closed my eyes and breathed as the unfairness washed over me, remembering the time I’d unloaded to Birdie about Josie’s lack of dedication.

“She just… she doesn’t even care!”

“Why do you say that?” Birdie asked, rubbing my scars in firm, circular motions to break up the scar tissue.

“She missed class today because she was tired from a stupid sleepover. It’s like it doesn’t even matter to her.”

Birdie shrugged. “There are different ways to care.”

“Whatever.”

“Nuh-uh, you don’t get to be mad at me, I’m mad at you.”