I knew this was feeding the worst parts of myself, but my anger felt so hot, so strong, so different from the soul-sapping exhaustion of being hurt. I was tired of being a wounded animal. “You know, when she was standing there in the director’s office, accusing me, I couldn’t believe it. It felt like she’d killed my real best friend, the one that did all that nice stuff. Because that person felt real. I loved her, and now she’s gone, and the murderer looks just like her.”

“It’s the mind games that make women the worst. My mother—” Lena looked away. “Well, she was one of those women who hates other women, but she could play all their games. Just like Aimee. And Sandy. And too many people who don’t get what’s coming to them.”

“I’m sorry.” Maybe I hadn’t been grateful enough for my own mother, her even-keeled unconditional love. The only thing she wanted me to do was be happy. And that was the area where I’d failed her the most. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Nope. Only child.”

That was another thing I should have felt grateful for—my sisters. I knew if I needed them, if something happened to Michael, if our house burned down, I’d always have a place to go. But a sister both was and wasn’t a friend. We weren’t the same age or in the same stage of life or even in the same zip code. We had the same laugh and the same parents, but we were all three very different people. Maybe we would have been friends if we hadn’t been related, but being sisters meant we wouldn’t ever just be friends.

Of course—given what happened with Aimee—wasn’t that a reason to be thankful? Friends might disappear, but my sisters would be stuck with me for life. Whether they liked me or pitied me or found me exhausting.

I don’t know what my face looked like, but Lena said, “Screw her. We’re friends now, and we’ll be fucking unstoppable.”

And it was okay, I felt okay, like whatever I said, whatever had happened, it didn’t matter now. There was a future where I wasn’t alone.

By the time we finished walking a loop of our neighborhood, I could feel sweat beading at the back of my neck and under my arms.

As if she could read my mind, Lena said, “It’s hot as hell out here. I guess you had four seasons up north? We’ve just got two—scorching and bearable. That last one won’t come around again until November.”

“I don’t think I can make it three more months.”

“You’ll have to come over and hang out by the pool. I make a mean margarita.”