I stand up, my arms crossed. “That won’t work. I can’t do that. Not with Nationals coming up. I can’t just continue to skip practice.”

She doesn’t even bother acknowledging my protest. “And Vice Principal Benavidez spoke with Principal Armstrong. They’ve both come to the conclusion that it would be inappropriate for you to continue on with the Shamrocks.”

The floor drops out from beneath me. “What—what does that mean?” I stutter. “Like, as co–assistant captain? What about next year?”

Mama shakes her head. “No.” And for the first time, I see the slightest sign of sympathy in the way her brow furrows. “Baby, you’re off the team for good.”

It takes a moment for that news to sink in. I feel silly for not realizing that I would get kicked off the team. I guess I just assumed I would serve my punishment and things would go back to normal.

But no. I have to lose something. It’s like Melissa said. Someone would pay a price.

Mama leaves, shutting the door behind her. I plop down on my bed with my arms limp at my sides. Every day of my life since I was a little girl has been spent working toward the moment when I would finally be able to call myself a Shamrock. And now it’s gone in a moment.

The whole room feels like someone sucked out all the air. I remind myself to breathe, but with everything I’ve worked so hard for evaporating right before me, even the simple act of pushing air in and out of my lungs feels impossible.

Millie

Nine

My room is way too small to hold this many people, but it feels full in a good way, like a bustling restaurant on a Friday night.

I’m sitting in my huge wicker chair, which feels more like a throne. Amanda and Hannah sit on my bed with their legs crossed, and Ellen and Will are curled up on the floor like two cats.

“Good night, girls!” calls my dad as he pads down the hallway, and the light pouring in beneath my door disappears.

We kicked off the night with pizza—courtesy of my dad—and a plethora of online quizzes. (Yes, I did google “slumber party activities.” No, I did not expect to be inundated with pornography.) But for now everyone’s just kind of vegged out with their phones. I guess this isn’t a bad slumber party, but it’s not exactly what I had in mind when I imagined us all bonding.

Hannah, in her black leggings and oversized battle of the bands T-shirt, yawns with her entire body as she flops onto her side. “I think I’m actually a forty-year-old trapped in a seventeen-year-old’s body. Is it too early to go to sleep?”

I groan. “Y’all. Come on. We’re all just on our phones, and Hannah, yes, it is too early, okay? It’s only ten thirty.”

She hisses at me but sits up.

“Maybe we should watch a movie,” offers Amanda.

Ellen yawns. “I would just fall asleep.”

“You say sleep like it’s a dirty word,” says Hannah.

Willowdean pops up into a seated position. Her curls sit piled on top of her head and vibrate at even the slightest movement. “Y’all wanna play a game?”

“You hate games,” Ellen says.

“Okay,” says Willowdean. “Well, yeah. But I was just trying to contribute or whatever.” She touches the speck of toothpaste on her chin. “Are you sure this is going to work?” she asks me.

“According to Google, toothpaste is the perfect topical remedy for a pimple,” I say.

Willowdean groans. “This is like one of those horrible under-the-skin ones that just throbs. Can a pimple give you a headache? Is that possible?”

“No,” says Hannah, biting down on her freshly pierced lip. “But you talking about it enough will.”

Amanda leans in a little closer to Hannah. “On a scale of one to OH MY GOD I FEEL THIS PAIN IN MY SOUL, how much did your lip piercing hurt?”

Hannah bites down on the ring again. “The pain wasn’t half as bad as the lecture I got from my mom when she saw it. Changing the rings out is sort of uncomfortable, but Courtney got a piercing apprenticeship, and she needed to practice on something that wasn’t made of silicone. She could’ve used a pig’s ear, but she’s a vegan.”

Ellen shivers. “That’s some serious trust.”

Hannah holds back a smile, but her rosy cheeks give her away.

“Hey, how about that Two Truths and a Lie game?” asks Amanda.

“Yes!” I say a little too loudly. “Everyone, on the floor. Come on!” I tiptoe around Ellen and Will to turn off the bright overhead lights, so that the only sources of light are my two bedside lamps. The room feels instantly more intimate and somehow safer—perfect for secret keeping. I grab the sheet face masks I bought at the drugstore this morning and pass them out.

“What are these?” asks Amanda.

“Face masks,” says Ellen.

Amanda and Hannah stake out their spots on the carpet and I sit leaning up against my bed. We unwrap our face masks and carefully try to place them on our faces, matching up the eye, nose, and mouth holes.

Willowdean screeches. “This thing is freezing.”

Ellen reaches over and helps her smooth out her mask. “Don’t be a baby.”

“I probably should’ve washed the toothpaste off my chin,” Willowdean says through gritted teeth, to stop her mask from slipping down her face.

Hannah looks around at all of us and then glances at her reflection in the reverse camera on her phone. “We look like serial killers.”

Amanda leans over her shoulder so she can see herself, too. “Oh, yeah. Like we’re wearing the skin of our victims or something.”

“Well, I hear these things are very moisturizing,” I say. “And better to look like a serial killer than actually be one, right?”

Hannah looks at me, a faint grin teasing her lips. “I think maybe there’s such a thing as too optimistic.”

“Okay, okay!” says Ellen. “Enough serial-killer talk. Time for Two Truths and a Lie! Who’s going first?”

Hannah shrugs. “Might as well be you.”

“Fine,” says Ellen with a hint of defiance in her voice.

“Better make it good,” says Will. “I know all your secrets.”

Ellen squints, studying the ceiling for a moment, as her tongue just barely sticks out. This must be her thinking face.

“Okay! Okay! I got it. One, I have bigger feet than my boyfriend. Two, a few weeks ago . . . after we, ya know, did it and were cuddling, I farted.”

We all erupt in laughter.

“Oh man,” says Amanda. “That’s gotta be true. Why else would you own up to that?”

El shakes her hands, trying to silence us. “Wait! I’m not done. Three, I started my period at my twelfth birthday party.”

“Well, that’s not very interesting,” says Hannah.

Ellen shrugs. “Harder to tell if it’s a truth or a lie then.”

Will opens her mouth to speak, but Ellen slaps her hand over her lips before she can say a word. “And you have to sit this round out.”

“Mop bare,” says Will, her mouth still covered.

“What was that?” I ask.

Will pulls Ellen’s hand away. “Not fair.”

“I’ll allow it!” I say, mimicking the courtroom dramas my dad watches every Thursday night. “Okay, so let’s see.” I eye Ellen’s feet. “You are pretty tall.”

“So having bigger feet than your boyfriend wouldn’t be that weird,” says Hannah. “But your feet don’t look that big.”

I try to hide my excitement at Hannah’s slight eagerness. She’s like a stray cat—only attracted by disinterest.

“They’re pretty big,” says Willowdean, assuring the rest of us.

“Hey!” I say. “You’re not supposed to be playing this round.”

She mimes zipping her lips together.

“Or maybe he just has abnormally small feet!” says Amanda as she fishes around a bag of gummy bears for her favorite flavor, pineapple.

“And like Amanda said, why would you make up that story about . . . passing gas?” I ask, preferring the more polite phrasing. “But maybe it’s a red herring!”