It was only when Ziggy escorted us down into the gulch of the theater that I recognized some of the other kids present. I might have been surprised by some of them—notably Jayden Hoxsie, sitting in the front row—wearing a different-colored polo shirt, but one that was still two sizes too small, stretched across his chest like spandex.

Unfortunately, I was a little too preoccupied with the emo-haired freshman girl, awkwardly leaning forward, one skinny arm folded against her stomach, the other propped up on it, scratching her eyebrow in a feeble attempt to hide her face.

It was Willow.

Flash.

SIX

WYNEZRA AND I TURNED our heads slowly, eyes the size of jawbreakers, meeting each other’s gaze with pained exasperation.

Willow seemed to notice that her alleged big brother was directing his jawbreaker stare elsewhere. Which made her visibly confused.

“Willow?” said Holden. “You’re here?”

He looked at Wynezra for some sort of explanation. But as far as Wynezra knew, Holden was talking about a tree. Or Warwick Davis. She glanced desperately at me for clarification.

“Isn’t that your little sister, Ezra?” I said. I nodded my head hintingly at Willow.

“Uh, I guess so,” said Wynezra. Her momentary panic subsided into a smoke screen of cool indifference. “Like I give a shit.”

She sat down.

Willow had been ignoring me for months. So I was just a little bit shocked that she seemed genuinely hurt.

Holden was baffled. He glanced from Willow to Wynezra. Since Wynezra had been acting weird all day, he returned his concern to Willow, who was honestly kind of like a little sister to him. “Did you actually sign up, or is this a detention thing?”

Willow shrugged uncomfortably, indicating this was definitely a detention thing.

“Holy shit,” said Holden. “What did you do?”

“Holden, mi compadre,” said Ziggy. “We don’t ask people what they did here. What they did is in the past. We only ask what they’re going to do. Think forward, not backward.”

Then he directed a sad glance at Wynezra.

“And you should always give a shit about your little sister.”

Wynezra’s arms were folded in a knot. She gave a shrug that only seemed to emphasize the lack of shits she gave.

Jayden Hoxsie—sitting on the exact opposite end of the circle from Willow—gave a douche-y snicker and winked at Willow.

“Bitch,” he whispered.

“Yeah, fuck you, too, Hoxsie,” said Wynezra.

Wynezra seemed to have forgotten that she was not Wynonna Jones, who took no shit from nobody, but rather Ezra Slevin, shit depository personified. Or, at least, quiet and submissive witness to any and all shit flung anywhere.

Jayden Hoxsie bolted up from his seat so fast, his theater chair thundered up and down.

“What did you say?” said Jayden.

Wynezra didn’t back down.