“I think I need to move on,” said Imogen. “And I don’t know how that’s going to happen if I don’t do something. And maybe I just need a friend, and Ezra… I mean, if he’s anything, he’s friendly. And most importantly, I want to go to prom with you without being a third wheel. Because from the looks of it, you and Holden are… well, you know. Things are looking good.”

For whatever reason, she didn’t sound like things were “looking good.” She sounded sad. Dejected, even. However, I was a tad preoccupied with the fact that she was talking about GOING TO PROM WITH ME.

Okay, so the “friend” part was less than stellar. But this was huge progress. It was almost too much progress. The sheer scale of the progress was so tremendous, it didn’t make any sense. I dropped a hint, and Wynonna complimented her sweater, and suddenly she was talking about prom?

But I already knew why. She needed to “move on.”

She needed to get over Mystery Guy X.

How long could she talk in riddles about being “trapped in a role” and needing to “move on” without saying this guy’s name?

As much as I was dying to know his identity, however, part of me knew that the knowledge could be crippling. The last thing I needed was to discover that this guy she liked was absolutely nothing like me. What I needed was to prove myself. And, according to the history of my and Wynonna’s predicament, I was usually myself by evening.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” I said. “Let’s do something.”

“Do something?” said Imogen.

“A date. A double date. We can eat at Fat Patties and go see a movie after. Don’t ask me about Ezra. Get to know him yourself!”

“Oh, I dunno,” she said. “I don’t really see the point.”

“The point?” I said. I couldn’t help but sound a little offended. “The point is having fun! Don’t you believe in fun?”

“Fun, for me, is reading a book, or having a girls’ night with you, or bingeing Downton Abbey.”

“Think of it as a girls’ night with me!” I said. “Only there’s two boys invited. And I have dibs on Holden.”

Mentioning Holden did the trick. “Holden” was the code word that activated Imogen’s preprogrammed BFF directive, and all the selflessness and sacrifice that entailed.

“You’re right,” she said, nodding. She almost sounded sure of herself, too. “It will be fun. Let’s do it. What movies are best for dates? Romantic comedies?”

A sinister smile slithered across my face. “Horror movies.”

And that was how we ended up buying four tickets to Splatter IV: The Reckoning.