Girls Save the World in This One - Ash Parsons Page 0,9

June, don’t look.” Imani’s voice is first hushed and tight, then hushed and soothing, and that’s how I know what it is.

Or rather who.

“Just look at me. She hasn’t seen us, and we don’t have to see her either. Not if you don’t want to.”

I knew she was coming. Her and Scott both. I knew that. I know that.

“Scott’s not with her,” Imani murmurs, reading my mind like always.

That pain that wears Blair’s name lances through my heart again. Betrayal sharp as a sword. What it feels like to lose a close friend. After years. Because they were never your friend at all, it seems.

Shame and heat burn through my veins and I have to pretend now, that I don’t feel this either, this particular self-hatred of being so, so, so stupid.

And not about math, which, I already knew.

But a new kind of stupid. A stupid about people, when I thought I was good at them.

I know I’m not supposed to say that word. To use it. I know my mom would hate it if she knew I thought of myself that way. I know it’s a bad word, and inaccurate, and wrong.

But nothing else captures the way I feel. The worthlessness and shame of being . . . that.

“It’s okay,” I lie. “I’m fine.”

And so, I look around, even though Imani has twisted in front of me slightly to shield us.

Blair Whitley walks alongside the slowly snaking line. She’s taking long strides, like no one is going to stop her, not ever, why would they?

Her smile is tight on her face, like all her smiles are. Tense, forced, tightening her eyes and showing sharp teeth.

She’s pretty in the whetted way of a knife. Her honey-brown hair is wavy, like she might have used hot rollers this morning. Her eyebrows are perfect arcs accenting her freckled white skin.

Before I can wonder where she’s going in such a rush, when the line is so slow and we’re all just standing here like cattle, I see it. Around her neck.

A VIP badge on a deluxe, collectible, blood-spatter-design ribbon lanyard.

Air whuffs out of my chest with a sickening thump.

I mean.

Of course.

“Is that a VIP pass?” Imani murmurs. “Good lord. They cost what, a grand?”

I nod, and make myself look away from Blair.

“Or more. Depending on which level you buy.”

We were all supposed to go to ZombieCon! together.

“She must have upgraded,” Imani says. “I guess her parents coughed up the cash, as always.”

I feel an old surge of protectiveness, the light-tracings history of our entire, complicated friendship.

“Can you blame her?” I ask. “Especially since she knew she wouldn’t be coming with us.”

“Don’t you start punishing yourself.” Imani’s voice is a gentle reprimand.

I just shake my head.

I can’t help it. I met Blair in kindergarten, too. She used to play with me and Imani; they’d fight over me. Hard to believe, right? But I think it was because I used to be happy to play any game they wanted, not because I was so great or anything.

On the playground Blair would pull on one arm and Imani would pull on the other and they’d both be laughing and pulling at me, saying, “She’s my friend! She’s my friend!” and I would be laughing, too. I’m not going to lie, it felt pretty good to have them fight over me. But I’d say, “We can all play together!” and “I’m both your friends!” Which didn’t quite make sense grammatically, but I knew what I meant.

And eventually I was both their friends. We were like the Three Musketeers, one for all, and all for one! And when Siggy came to our school in third grade, she became our fourth musketeer. We would hang out together in our group of four, or we’d break off into pairs, or trios, but usually we were all together as much as possible, sitting together at lunch every day, meeting up in the courtyard at break,