“What are you talking about?” I say, trying to keep the shock from my face even though my pulse is pounding so hard she can probably feel it.

“I washed your license. Chalk came right off.”

“It was a mistake,” I say. “They messed up at the DMV.”

“Bullshit.” Rosemary isn’t shaking anymore. “You’re just some random trashy kid and you need to go back to whatever hellhole Little River is and leave us alone.” Her eyes meet mine and even though she’s trying to be furious I can see her heartbreak. “We would have worked everything out,” she says. “Carly wouldn’t have left if you didn’t push your way in.”

“She lost a lot for you,” I say. “She needed support.” I know I shouldn’t speak for Carly, but I feel like if I try maybe Rosemary could change her mind.

“You can’t know what she needs. You’re a baby.” Rosemary gets close and wrinkles her mouth to mock me. It’s so ugly. Her breath is hot on my face. “Go home and cry to mommy.”

“You don’t know anything about me!” I shout, but my words sound so useless.

“I know enough about you,” she says, “I’ll go into Decadence. I’ll tell everyone Carly is fucking a child.”

I can feel my world breaking apart like an old barn in a hurricane. “I’m not sleeping with Carly.”

“I’m not stupid,” Rosemary says.

I almost blurt out that I have a boyfriend but stop myself just in time. Carly isn’t that much older than me and we’re friends and that’s truth. If any of this leads back to Adam, it means real trouble for sure.

“I only acted like that so Carly could save face,” I tell her.

“I saw you two holding hands in The Commons last week. You didn’t even see me. In the bathroom at The Haunt. That wasn’t for my benefit.”

“We’re friends.” My throat tightens.

“Yeah. I bet you are.”

“It’s not like that!” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from crying. “Carly is the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“Carly is twenty years old. Why would she want to be your friend? You’re a child. You don’t know anything.”

I feel this weird twist in my mind. Like everything is slow motion and I can see it clearly—how fragile and sheltered and stupid Rosemary is. I wonder what it would feel like to crack her in half like a dried-out twig. “If she doesn’t love you,” I say, “it’s because of you, not me.”

Rosemary’s face flushes. She’s shaking again. “Get the fuck out of my house!”