No one at any school had ever been as nice to me as Kira was being right then, listening to all this. I hadn’t said so much out loud to someone my own age in…possibly ever.

“I mean, metaphorically,” I mumbled. “The stabbing part.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I figured. Is Francine good? Little kids always love her.”

“She is. She’s nice. Good food.”

Kira looked relieved. “Has she made tea yet?”

“Oh my God, the lemon curd.”

“The brûlée,” she whispered. “Hey. JJJJ would be a nice tattoo.”

“You think?”

“No! I’m kidding. Listen to me, words and letters are a gateway drug—tattoos are addictive, don’t start. Oooh, want me to make your eyebrows glamorous?”

Lane change. I was grateful. “How are eyebrows glamorous?”

“They set the tone for your whole face.” She grabbed a fistful of pencils and brushes. “Yours are great—dark, with excellent arches. I’ll just amp them up a little.” She sat me in a chair and stood studying my forehead, then went to work. “The key to eyebrows is, you want them to be siblings, not twins.”

“Oh jeez,” I said. But I thought of Sean. Like Kira’s kindness, his attention was also unprecedented. Arguing with him made me feel smart. It made me think about how he’d already seen me wear every piece of clothing I owned. Twice. And that mostly he saw me sweaty, hiking, hair a mess. And then I hated myself for caring what he thought.

But like a new smoker, not yet addicted, I thought, It’s okay to have some of this—a friend, a boy to like. Friend, not “life or death”; go out, not date. Just having some fun for once. What the hell, maybe a couple of months, just for the school year….I can quit anytime.

She turned my face to the mirror. “See? You’re glamorous!”

Who knew eyebrows were so powerful? I liked it. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” She got to work on her eyelashes. “Okay. You ready to go hang with a bunch of drunk, high douchebags and Sean?”

Drunk and high. God, this was a bad idea.

“Just so you know,” she said, “I can be a designated driver. And I can keep a secret. If you want to partake. I’m not— I can’t. Anymore.”

Oh, relief. “I can’t,” I said. “Not ever. Not till I’m out, anyway.”

She nodded. “I wasn’t a drunk or anything,” she said.

“Not my business.”

“Surfing goes well with cutting school.”

“Sure.”

“And getting high.”

“I can imagine.” I couldn’t imagine. “You patched up and ready?”

She revealed a big patch on her hip.

“How many?”

“Just this! God, Mom.” But she smiled.