Willow jumped, placed a hand over her heart, and successfully failed to have a heart attack.

“Jesus!” said Willow. “What is with you today? You’re acting really”—she hesitated, rummaging for the right word—“different.”

“Oh, you know…” I said, and shrugged. As if that meant something and wasn’t a total evasion of her question. “Hey, do you need a ride?”

“Oh. No, I’m good.”

“You’re good?”

“I already have a ride.”

“With who?”

“Thad Magnino.”

Here’s what I knew about Thad: It was short for Thaddeus. He was Jayden Hoxsie’s best friend, he was a junior, and he was here—an honorary member of theater, god knows why. Sexual harassment, maybe? He had moppy blond surfer hair, a tan, too many wristbands, and a reputation for being a total player. In the Douchimus maximus family, Thad was an apex predator.

“Thad?” I said. “You’re kidding, right?”

The thick black lines of Willow’s eyes narrowed. She shook her head. “I’ve gotta go.”

She walked past me.

“Wait!” I said. “What are you doing here? Did you get in trouble? Do Mom and Dad know about it?”

Willow snapped rigid. She whipped around.

“Do Mom and Dad know about anything?” she said. “Do they know you’re here?”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“Fuck you, Ezra,” she said, and she stormed off.

The drive home was awkward and silent.

Holden asked if he could be dropped off first. That’s when I knew things were bad.

After I dropped Holden off, Imogen asked if she could be next.

“Actually,” said Wynonna, “I was wondering if you wanted to hang out!”

This was the first thing Wynonna said to Imogen the entire drive. Really, it was the first thing anyone said to anyone.

“I can’t,” said Imogen, standoffishly. “I have… a thing.”

“A thing?” said Wynonna.

Imogen nodded, not even making eye contact with Wynonna.

“Oh,” said Wynonna. “Okay.”

By the time we dropped Imogen off, the tension in the car had amplified tenfold. As I drove Wynonna back to the Lakes, I opened my mouth. My hope was that words would come out—miraculously, of their own volition—and somehow mend the state of things.

“Don’t,” said Wynonna.

“But—” I said.

“No.”

When we arrived at the Lakes, Wynonna stepped out of the car. But she didn’t shut the door. Not right away. Instead, she seethed, allowing her fury to intensify.

“You won this round,” she said. “But this isn’t over yet.”

“Wynonna, wait,” I said. “I’m not trying to win any—”

Wynonna slammed the car door, marched up to the entryway of the Lakes, and vanished behind the glass, reflecting the bleeding colors of the falling sun.

EIGHT

I WOKE UP. THAT ALONE was a bad sign.