During my office-aide period on Thursday, Mama asks me to run around and pick up all her attendance sheets, since her normal aide is absent.

It used to be that a chance like this to freely roam the halls for an entire class period would be the perfect excuse to rendezvous with Bryce in a utility closet. But now it’s just like a torture parade around campus so that people can get a better look at the girl who trashed a local business and screamed like a banshee when her boyfriend tried to break up with her.

Yesterday I started my period three days early, so I sprinted out of class to the nearest bathroom. While I was in the stall, I watched through the cracks as two sophomores came in and hovered at the sinks, reapplying lip gloss.

“I saw Melissa posted Shamrock Camp sign-up sheets,” said the first one.

Shamrock Camp was always one of my favorite times of year. Two weeks every summer, and anyone could sign up. We’d have long eight-hour days of grueling workouts and training. At the end of the two weeks, we’d host tryouts. In reality, though, the tryouts started the first day of camp, and the actual tryout was just a formality. At camp, it only takes a few days for the herd to thin.

“She totally lucked into that captain spot for next year,” said the second one.

I nodded along. These girls may be sophomores, but they knew what they were talking about.

Through the cracks, I watched as the first girl scooted in closer to her friend. “Well, I heard Callie Reyes was high on pain pills when she trashed that gym. They were all just going to TP the place, but then she was on this, like, drug-induced warpath and no one could stop her.”

“That girl was serious goals.”

The first one shook her head. “If goals equal having a public meltdown.”

The two started to laugh but stopped abruptly when I flushed my toilet and yanked my shorts up before pushing my stall door open. I took my time washing my hands, and instead of reaching for a towel, I flicked the water off my hands in their general direction. “Boo,” I said.

Both girls skittered off, and the second one even shrieked, like I might turn into a pill-popping crazed cannibal.

After retrieving the last attendance sheet from the freshman hall, I turn the corner into the social studies hall to find Melissa and Sam huddled together, with Jill at the other end of the hall, hanging up posters.

“Hey,” I say. The word falls flat on the ground like a single forgotten penny. My eyes meet Melissa’s, and all I can think of is that middle-of-the-night phone call when she answered Sam’s cell. The two of them have treated me like the plague since I took the fall for the team, but this is the first time that there’s no noisy hallway to hide behind. This time, if they want to ignore me, they’ll have to do it to my face.

“Oh, hey, Callie,” Sam says. “How have you been?” she asks sympathetically.

I don’t take kindly to pity, but it feels nice that for the first time, someone is actually acknowledging how awful this is for me.

“Fine,” I say.

Melissa stands with her arms crossed just a foot behind Sam. I sneer at her, but she doesn’t budge.

Sam reaches out and takes my hand. “We just want you to take care of you,” she says. “That’s all that matters right now.”

My brow creases. Take care of me? “I’m good,” I say. “Great, even. Just sort of hoping there’s some way we can get me back on the team next year. I mean, all this will blow over soon enough.” I just need some other big drama to come along, and then I’ll be old news.

She glances over her shoulder. Jill’s looking at the freaking roll of tape like it’s chemistry.

A little too loudly, Sam says, “Don’t you worry about the team, sweetie. We’re all rooting for you to take this chance to turn your life around.” She pulls me in for a hug, but my whole body is stiff against her.

“Excuse me?” I whisper.

“We really miss you and all,” she says, her voice hushed. “But we sort of just, like, need you to keep your distance. For the sake of the team.”

I step back, my mouth agape.

“It was so good seeing you,” says Melissa. “You’re looking so much better these days.”

My gaze skips back and forth between the two of them. I don’t know if they started the rumor about me that I heard from those dumbass sophomores, or if that was just a fluke. But either way, Sam and Melissa are doing everything they can to make sure people think I acted alone.

I shake my head furiously. “You know what? You’re both trash,” I say. “And that team is nothing without me. Every time either of you fail, know that I am watching and I am absolutely delighted.”

I don’t even bother with the rest of the attendance slips. I take what I have back to the office and tell my mom I have some monster cramps so she’ll let me hide out behind her desk for the rest of my office-aide period.

I’m done letting this shit happen to me. I’m done lying down and taking it. Not only did Melissa rat me out, but now she and Sam are trying to ruin whatever reputation I have left. But two can play that game.

The last Saturday before the start of every school year is a sacred day in Shamrock history. It is the day that the incoming team captain hosts a massive sleepover for the entire team. On the surface, it sounds like a silly party—the type of thing wet dreams are made of. But in truth, it is the night when new members of the team commit themselves to the Shamrocks and we begin the transition from a bunch of girls in matching costumes into a sisterhood of girls who have one shared goal: to be the best.

Because no good thing comes without sacrifice, every incoming Shamrock is required to commit one secret they’ve never told a living soul to the Shamrock Bible—a five-inch-thick green-and-gold scrapbook. The outside of the thing is hideous. Chipped sequins, years-old chunks of hot glue, stray feathers, and an excess of glitter paint. We stopped trying to make the thing pretty years ago, and these days, we only concentrate on keeping it in one piece.

The Shamrock Bible is the deepest of all Shamrock secrets. It has existed in some form since the team was started in 1979 and contains every rule and routine and a secret from every member of the team. The current Shamrock Bible dates back to 1995.

The night I went to my first Shamrock sleepover, Isabella Perez, a senior, was hosting.

After her parents went to bed, Isabella led us all up to her attic, where she and the other girls lit a circle of candles. I remember feeling like my heart was going to beat right out of my chest.

The entire team sat in a circle. It was the first time I remember being aware of Melissa. She sat next to me. Earlier in the night, she’d been absolutely giddy about her braces coming off the day before school, but now she was quiet and reverential, even. We all were. For us, this was church.

Isabella spoke of the power of sisterhood and how the Shamrocks were the longest-standing all-female team on the Clover City High School campus. “Singular talent has no place here,” she said. “As of today, you are one piece of a much larger machine, and the only way that machine works is through the power of trust and sisterhood.”

In that moment, I could’ve been joining a synchronized golfing team. It didn’t matter. Whatever she was selling, I was buying. And maybe dance was just the vehicle to get me what I was really hungry for: friends. All my life, my mother had talked about her years as a Shamrock and the friendships she made. Her bridesmaids? Shamrocks. Outside the delivery room while she was in labor? Shamrocks. Holding her hand at divorce court? Shamrocks. Crying tears of joy while I stood by her side at her second wedding? Shamrocks.

Isabella unveiled the Shamrock Bible and began to pass it around. “No feelsy bullshit secrets allowed,” she said. “Hard facts. We want truth. Being a Shamrock comes with lots of benefits. Sisterhood. Eternal popularity. Legacy. But all that comes at a price.”

Sam sat on the opposite side of me, and when it was my turn to write my secret down, she nodded encouragingly and smiled. “At least your secret won’t be lonely. Mine’s just a couple pages back.”

“Can I see it?” I asked.

“Later tonight,” she promised.

“Really?” Melissa asked.

“Really,” Sam said. “Once you commit your secret, the book is yours to devour.”