“Hey, Holden!” Imogen exclaimed. “You’re going to theater, right? At the Amityvale? Can we get a ride with you?”

Holden gave Imogen a look that was not unlike the “clown car” look she gave me.

“What?” he said.

“A ride,” Imogen repeated. “To the theater. You guys are going, right?”

Holden glanced from Imogen (bubbly, ecstatic, teetering on the edge of hysteria), to me (distressed, confused, trying to take as few steps as possible in these deathtrap heels), and back to Imogen.

“Pretty please?” said Imogen.

Holden’s gaze drifted suspiciously, wandering nowhere in particular. Maybe he was looking for the hidden camera filming this obvious TV-show prank.

“Where’s Ezra?” I asked, mostly as a tension breaker.

“That’s what I’m wondering!” said Holden. The response practically erupted out of him. “Every time I try to talk to him, he freaks out, makes up some weird, obviously fake excuse, and runs off.”

His suspicious gaze locked onto me.

“You didn’t say anything to him, did you?” said Holden. “Scare him off some—wait.” He looked at Imogen. “We? Did you say, ‘Can we get a ride with you?’”

“Uhhhhh…” said Imogen.

His gaze returned to me with a calm, murderous look.

“You’re going now?” he said. “Jesus, no wonder Ezra’s freaking out! So, what? You just changed your mind?”

The good news was that I had just diverted suspicion from Wynonna and her shit performance as Ezra Slevin. The bad news was that she was clearly cracking under the pressure of being me. Or maybe she was cracking under the pressure of being Holden’s best friend. Either way, our disguises were looking awfully paper thin. If I wasn’t convincing as Wynonna, this plan could very well blow up in our faces.

C’mon. Think, Ezra, think! What would Wynonna say? Think Wynonnish thoughts.

“Yeah, that’s right,” I said. “I changed my mind. You got a problem with that, shortstop?”

Imogen’s mouth fell open.

Okay, maybe I overstepped. In the spectrum of douchey things you could say to another human being, jabs at Holden’s height were off the douche-o-meter.

Holden’s jaw clenched. A shadow of something flashed past the windows of his eyes—like a passing silhouette in a dark doorway.

Hate?

Whatever it was, it was gone in an instant.

“Fine,” said Holden. He turned exclusively to Imogen. “But you have to find Ezra. Find him, and you can ride with us.”

“Okay,” said Imogen, nodding overenthusiastically. “You know what? I’m going to check the main office. Maybe Ezra’s getting the deets about this Shakespeare thing from Principal Durden. But hey, you guys wait here in case he shows up, okay?”