“It was nice meeting you,” Willow chimed in from the back seat.

“Oh. Yeah.” I said, flustered. “You too.”

“We should hang out sometime,” said Willow.

She seemed to immediately regret saying that.

“I mean, if you’re ever not busy doing… you know… whatever—”

“I’d love to hang out,” I said.

Willow lit up. “Oh! Great! Here, lemme get your number.”

“You two are too cute,” said Wynezra, and pretended to gag.

I flipped Wynezra off with one hand and pulled out Wynonna’s phone with the other. Willow and I exchanged numbers. Finally, I was forced to unceremoniously exit the vehicle and go home to a place that was basically an alien planet to me.

I crossed the lobby, took the elevator, and treaded lightly down the hall with a special sort of dread—like I expected to round the corner and discover a pair of dead ghost twins in matching blue dresses blocking my path, offering to play with me forever and ever and ever.

The good news was that I reached Wynonna’s condo door with nary an ectoplasmic trace of dead ghost twins.

The bad news was that, just as I was reaching for the doorknob, the door opened and Carol exited.

She had her purse on her shoulder, a scarf around her neck, and a pair of sunglasses that—at this late hour—would have made Corey Hart proud.

“Well, well, well,” said Carol. “Look what the cat dragged in. Coming in a little late now, aren’t we?”

My mouth stammered for words. Finally, I uttered a feeble “Sorry.”

“Dare I ask where you’ve been? Off gallivanting with Ponyboy and Sodapop and the rest of your poor, misunderstood street urchin friends from the wrong side of the tracks?”

“I was at Shakespeare practice.”

“Ha! Of course, you were! Let me guess: Beatrice of Much Ado? The great battler of wits and words? No, no—Lady Macbeth. Yes. That’s it. You two seem to have similar temperaments.”

Wow. I think I was starting to understand Wynonna’s dislike for Carol.

“Actually,” I said, “we’re doing Twelfth Night. And I’m Viola.”

“Oh, of course, of course!” said Carol. She clearly didn’t believe a word coming out of my mouth. “The great cross-dresser. Oh, I should have guessed Viola from the start—”

“Make me a willow cabin at your gate,” I said, “and call upon my soul within the house. Write loyal cantons of contemned love and sing them loud even in the dead of night; halloo your name to the reverberate hills and make the babbling gossip of the air cry out ‘Olivia!’ O! you should not rest between the elements of air and earth, but you should pity me.”

Carol’s mouth had slipped open in increments until she was completely slack-jawed.

“But how did you—” she said. “I thought you couldn’t—”