I can barely process all that she just said, but State? How? “Y’all are going to State?”

Her tone changes. It’s that voice she uses to trick Sam into thinking she has everything under control. “The car wash was, like, a super-big success, and Bryce’s dad agreed to triple whatever we raised. He says we can do more car washes if we make it to Nationals, and he’ll triple what we earn every time.”

My shoulders sink. “Oh.”

“I have to go,” she says. “Sam’s coming back.”

“I need to talk to her.”

“No,” she says. “You don’t. The dance team can’t be associated with you. The sooner everyone forgets that you didn’t act alone, the better.”

“But . . . but I didn’t act alone. You were there, too, Melissa.”

“I left,” she reminds me. “And no one cares who was there as long as someone pays the price.”

“I know you’re the one who ratted me out.” It feels good to finally say it out loud.

The phone cuts out. I yank the blanket off my head and squeeze my hands into two tight fists. Oh, I’m passionate, all right. And right now my passion is making Melissa’s life hell. I’m gonna burn it all down.

Millie

Thirteen

I sleep for days. I think. I have vague memories of my parents coming in and out of my room and cotton balls in my mouth and bloody drool. One recurring dream haunts me: an out-of-body experience where I watch myself writing my personal statement for journalism camp. Except every time I finish, the page is blank, like I’ve been writing with invisible ink. And then another where I’m doing my audition tape 100 percent naked.

When I do come out of it, I wake up in a panic. My bedroom is hot with afternoon sunlight. I reach for my phone on my nightstand, but it’s not in the pineapple-shaped charging cradle where I set it every night like clockwork. After taking a moment to rub my eyes and pry myself out of bed, I stumble out into the kitchen, where my mom is chopping celery and simmering chicken stock for chicken noodle soup.

I open my mouth to speak, but my jaw punishes me immediately with a shooting pain. Cradling my cheek, I groan.

My mom spins on her heels. “You’re up! Oh, sweet pea, I could’ve brought this to your room. Do you need something?”

I sit on the bar stool across the breakfast bar from her. “My mouth hurts.” My throat nearly cracks from dryness, and my tongue feels heavy and swollen in my mouth. “What time is it?”

My mom glances at the microwave. “Three thirty in the afternoon. You’ve been out since we got home from Dr. Shepherd’s last night.”

I nod. “Did he give me anything for the pain?”

“Awww, sweetie,” my mom coos. “Yes, he did. And you’re due for a dose in about thirty minutes.” She comes around the other side of the breakfast bar to smooth out my hair a little. “You slept good and hard.”

“I didn’t see my cell phone on my nightstand. Did I leave it at the gym or something? I could’ve sworn I brought it home.”

She reaches into the pocket of her apron. “Well, it was just the weirdest thing. Amanda called the house phone last night and said I oughta take your phone away from you. Immediately. She wouldn’t say why, except that your life depended on it. You know I like Amanda, but she’s a touch dramatic.”

“Huh.” I run my fingers through my hair, trying to detangle some knots. “And you did? Take my phone away?”

“Well, I thought she was just being funny. You know I can never tell when Amanda is joking or not, but she said your social life depended on it.” She chuckles to herself. “So I took it out of your room. I figured better safe than sorry.” She winks as she twirls around to grab a jar of dried parsley off her spice rack.

I hit a button on the side of my phone, lighting up the screen to see that I’m almost out of battery. “I’m gonna go brush my hair and charge this thing for a bit.”

“Okay, sweets, this soup will just simmer for a bit longer before it’s ready. And I’ve got some prescription toothpaste and mouthwash for you when you’re ready to brush your teeth.”

I smack my lips together. If my breath smells half as gross as my mouth feels, I’m in pretty rough shape. “After the soup,” I tell her.

She smiles sympathetically. “I must have dropped at least eight pounds when I had my wisdom teeth removed, so that’s something to look forward to.”

Somehow it always comes back to weight loss. But I’m too uncomfortable and groggy to engage with this right now. “I’ll be in my room.”

Back in my room, I search for a charging cord so that I can charge my phone and use it at the same time. I quickly scroll through my text messages. What could have possibly been so horrible that Amanda would call my mom and tell her to take my phone away?

The first text message exchange is between Willowdean and me.

ME: hey youuuuu

WILLOWDEAN: Millie? Hey

ME: what if there was an app that texted you every day to tell you something awesome about yourself but what if the app was like real stuff like it knew you but not in a creepy robot way

WILLOWDEAN: That sounds awesome, but are you okay right now?

ME: I AM GRAND

ME: like if I were the app robot I would say Willowqueen, you have balls of steel and that makes you awesome have an awesome day love your awesome app robot

ME: so genius

WILLOWDEAN: Balls of steel? Am I being pranked? Did someone steal Millie’s phone?

ME: boop boop beep boop

ME: that’s robot for shhh good night

“Oh my God.” I clap a hand over my mouth. My cheeks burn with instant embarrassment. Balls of steel? I don’t think I’ve ever even said the word balls out loud.

I’ve heard of this happening. People just totally out of it on painkillers and doing or saying ridiculous things. But I was so tired. I barely even remember coming home last night.

Still, I’m scared to dive into whatever other messes I might have gotten myself into. But it’s a car wreck. And I can’t look away. Plus I’ve got to get into damage-control mode at the very least. What if I said something rude or hurtful? Or accidentally told someone’s secret? Or my own secrets?

I scroll down to the next message. Amanda.

ME: my feelings ache

AMANDA: Huh?

ME: it’s like a stomachache, but with my heart and not the one in my body I mean the feelings heart. the heart-shaped heart not the fist-shaped heart

AMANDA: Millie?

ME: i want you to always feel like we can talk

AMANDA: I can’t believe I’m asking this, but are you drunk?

ME: I like you for always okay but I felt like a bad friend for not knowing that you’re asexual

ME: I had to have my wise teeth taken out but only the very smartest ones and that’s why i missed malik’s party, but it’s okay i told him i wouldn’t be there and that we should kiss for fun

AMANDA: OMG MILLIE WHERE ARE YOU

AMANDA: Throw your phone. Do it. Right now. Throw it as far as you can. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

I clutch my phone to my chest. Oh Lord Baby Jesus. What did I do? I need to talk to Amanda. I can’t believe I told her my feelings were hurt—when I had no right to even have hurt feelings to begin with! And Malik.

I take a deep breath and hold the phone out in front of me as I click on my message thread with Malik.

ME: no party for me :(

MALIK: Oh ok. Did something just come up? You seemed excited the other night.

ME: I was excited but were you is the real question

MALIK: I don’t get it. Did I do something wrong?

ME: if being cute and wearing your stupid pennies in your stupid loafers and always having a kissable face is wrong then yes you do all the things wrong mister sir

I roll over onto my side and pull the blankets over my head. With my face pressed deep into my pillow, I scream as loud as I can. The world is a cruel, cruel place. And what’s even worse is that those were only the first few in a very long series of messages. After a few more screams, I emerge from my blankets with my hair even more mussed than it was to begin with.

I inhale for two deep breaths, taking my time to exhale each time. My breath is truly unpleasant.