The hairs on the back of my neck sprung up hearing the ragged edge of Kori’s words. Her poor throat sounded as shredded as the back of Mrs. “Cat Collector” Patterson’s couch. What was left of her voice sounded like pure evil, and it was way too early for Kori’s particular brand of evil.

She again scribbled on the napkin, then shoved it back at me.

Don’t be such a wuss.

“What are you guys talking about?” Lexi asked before popping a french fry into her mouth.

“Nothing,” I muttered. I didn’t really want to get into the whole dares business with Lexi. Like Mom, Lexi had “concerns” about Kori’s “influence” over me. But Lexi’d probably agree if Mom told her the sun was purple. Changing the subject, I asked, “Weren’t they wearing their cheerleading uniforms yesterday?”

“Spirit week,” Cole said as she pulled Kori’s note over to read it. “You’re being a wuss?”

“She wants me to tell Chelsea off,” I explained, crumpling up the napkin. Luckily with Kori silenced, they didn’t need to know about the dares or the heinously embarrassing nakedness that was last night. “I don’t know why parents insist on naming their children stupid things.”

My friends were kind enough not to mention the fact that no one was actually making fun of my name—it was Mom’s name they were making fun of, which of course I realized. But that so wasn’t the point.

“Oh, fuck it,” Kori’s hoarse voice croaked. “I don’t know what you’re crying about. Kitzler means ‘clitoris’ in German.” She actually looked proud of this, but of course, none of us believed her. “I’m serious. Google it.”

“I’m not Googling German clitoris!” Lexi said with a huff.

Kori, Cole, and I burst out laughing, and Lexi’s egg-shaped face flared as red as Kori’s Coke can when she realized that what she’d said sounded perverted. “That’s not what I meant! That didn’t come out right! Stop laughing at me! You guys are so juvenile! Gah!”

When the table returned to order, mainly because we had to breathe, Lexi started again. “It’s not your mom’s fault, and besides, doesn’t everyone call her Desi now anyway?”

“Clearly Chelsea Westad didn’t get that memo.”

The whole nickname thing came up when Kori, Cole, Lexi, and I had our first sleepover at my house. At thirteen you do stupid stuff like that, make up new names. So there we were— Alexandria, Nicole, and I—and we decided that we would all have four-letter names like Kori. We thought that was cool—you know, because it was like having a four-letter word for a name— real taboo and all. We were thirteen. Give me a break.