Brendan says carefully. “We wanted to talk to you.”
I blink, refocusing. “Who? Me?”
I glance around at their faces. Suddenly, they all look serious. Too serious. I try to laugh when I ask, “What’s going on? Is this some kind of intervention?”
“Yes,” Brendan says. “Sort of.”
I go suddenly stiff.
Brendan sighs.
Winston scratches a spot on his forehead.
Ian says, “Juliette is probably going to die, you know that, right?”
Relief and irritation flood through me simultaneously. I manage to roll my eyes and shake my head at the same time. “Stop doing this, Sanchez. Don’t be that guy. It’s not funny anymore.”
“I’m not trying to be funny.”
I roll my eyes again, this time looking to Winston for support, but he just shakes his head at me. His eyebrows furrow so hard his glasses slip down his nose. He tugs them off his face.
“This is serious,” he says. “She’s not okay. And even if she does wake up again— I mean, whatever happened to her—”
“She’s not going to be the same,” Brendan finishes for him.
“Says who?” I frown. “The girls said—”
“Bro, the girls said that something about her chemistry changed. They’ve been running tests on her for days. Emmaline did something weird to her—something that’s, like, physically altered her DNA. Plus, her brain is fried.”
“I know what they said,” I snap, irritated. “I was there when they said it. But the girls were just being cautious. They think it’s possible that whatever happened to her might’ve left some damage, but—this is Sonya and Sara we’re talking about. They can heal anything. All we need to do is wait for J to wake up.”
Winston shakes his head again. “They wouldn’t be able to heal something like that,” he says. “The girls can’t repair that kind of neurological devastation. They might be able to keep her alive, but I’m not sure they’ll be able t—”
“She might not even wake up,” Ian says, cutting him off. “Like, ever. Or, best-case scenario, she could be in a coma for years. Listen, the point here is that we need to start making plans without her. If we’re going to save James and Adam, we need to go now. I know Sam’s been checking on them, and I know she says they’re stable for now, but we can’t wait anymore. Anderson doesn’t know what happened to Juliette, which means he’s still waiting for us to give her up. Which means Adam and James are still at risk— Which means we’re running out of time. And, for once,” he says, taking a breath, “I’m not the only one who feels this way.”
I sit back, stunned. “You’re messing with me, right?”
Brendan pours tea.
Winston pulls a flask out of his pocket and weighs it in his hand before holding it out to me. “Maybe you should have this tonight,” he says.
I glare at him.
He shrugs, and empties half the flask into his teacup.
“Listen,” Brendan says gently. “Ian is a beast with no bedside manner, but he’s not wrong. It’s time to think of a new plan. We all still love Juliette, it’s just—” He cuts himself off, frowns. “Wait, is it Juliette or Ella? Was there ever a consensus?”
I’m still scowling when I say, “I’m calling her Juliette.”
“But I thought she wanted to be called Ella,” Winston says.
“She’s in a fucking coma,” Ian says, and takes a loud sip of tea. “She doesn’t care what you call her.”
“Don’t be such a brute,” Brendan says. “She’s our friend.”
“Your friend,” he mutters.
“Wait— Is that what this is about?” I sit forward. “Are you jealous she never best-friended you, Sanchez?”
Ian rolls his eyes, looks away.
Winston is watching with fascinated interest.
“All right, drink your tea,” Brendan says, biting into a biscuit. He gestures at me with the half-eaten cookie. “It’s getting cold.”
I shoot him a tired look, but I take an obligatory sip and nearly choke. It tastes weird tonight. And I’m about to push it away when I realize Brendan is still staring at me, so I take a long, disgusting pull of the dark liquid before replacing the cup in the saucer. I try not to gag.
“Okay,” I say, slamming my palms down on my thighs. “Let’s put it to a vote: Who here thinks Ian is annoyed that J didn’t fall in love with him when she showed up at Point?”
Winston and Brendan share a look. Slowly, they both lift their hands.
Ian rolls his eyes again. “Pendejos,” he mutters.
“The theory holds at least a little water,” Winston says.
“I have a girlfriend, dumbasses.” And as if