“Why should I give it back? Because I’ll find proof on here that you’re LordTesla?” she challenged him. “We were right all along, huh? You wanted to date Eve, a nerd, after you gave up on me, so you made the list? She pushed you off at the dance, so you turned on her, too? Just like you turned on me?”

Brody’s low snicker turned into a full-on laugh, and his hands rested on his belly. “You are just too much, Sophie Kane.”

“Explain yourself.” Sophie haphazardly pressed buttons on his phone like she could figure out the password to open it if she just tapped on it enough. “Or, I swear, I will—”

“What?” Brody leaned back in his chair in his brown salesman costume. “What will you do? Something about Nessa and her little picture of my coat?”

Sophie’s hands froze.

“So what?” Brody went on. “That picture proves nothing.”

Sophie felt herself begin to droop. He knew the plan. Of course he did. He always ended up on top.

“You just couldn’t take a joke. That’s why you’re all”—he motioned to her slightly less than ‘perfect’ attire, the attire she liked, and her newly free hair—“like this?”

“No. No, actually, you’re wrong.” She remained steadfast.

“Am I?” he challenged her.

“Yes. And I like myself like this.”

Brody slouched in his chair, suddenly looking much smaller. “I didn’t write the stupid list, okay? I know you all think that I did. But I didn’t.” He shook his head. “You are so self-absorbed, did you know that?”

Brody smacked his forehead and his hand slid down, covering his mouth for a brief moment until he let it drop.

“What does it matter,” he said to himself. “My dad’s not coming, anyway.”

“Your dad’s not coming to the show? Why?”

Brody shook his head slightly and then slid farther into the chair, his legs sprawling out in front of him. “He thinks it’s stupid. And it is. Give me back my phone,” he groaned.

“Well, I’m sorry,” Sophie said, unable to help herself. “My dad isn’t coming, either.”

Brody didn’t seem to hear her. “My phone!”

“You don’t have to be like your dad, you know,” Sophie offered.

“Ha,” he sneered. “Great advice. Thanks.”

Sophie took a step closer to him.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He stood up. “But whatever. We are what people expect of us, right?”

“Brody—” She tried to stop him.

He snatched his phone back from her.

“Brody—” And again, she tried to make him face her, listen to her, but he turned to walk away.

“See ya.”

As he stormed off, Nessa walked back in.

“Who died?” she asked.

The sixth and seventh grade ensembles came barging in after her, twirling and giggling and chatting.

Sophie launched herself toward the door, trying to get past them. “You didn’t let me finish!” she yelled toward Brody, meaning that she hadn’t completed his makeup, but also that she hadn’t gotten all the answers she needed. But he was off.