“Molly, I’m sorry, it really wasn’t that much fun.”
“Oh, right. Driving around—during school—in Josh’s million-dollar Audi isn’t fun.”
“It wasn’t,” I assure her. “He drives like a freaking lunatic.”
She doesn’t seem appeased. “But Tyler Griffith? He’s so hot. I could have double-dated.”
“He’s a jerk,” I say. “I really had no idea he could be such a major douche-bag.”
Deflated, she gets more comfortable on the bed. “Where’d you go?”
“Wheeling.”
“West Virginia?” Her eyes pop. “Why?”
“They wanted booze.”
“Did you drink?”
I shake my head, my mind whirring. How much should I tell her? The story is long and complicated and kind of unbelievable. The truck, the chase, the coin. Levi. The idea of sharing it seems overwhelming, and I don’t want to.
“So what did you do?” she presses, getting closer. “Did you make out with Josh? Is he your boyfriend now?”
“No.” I can’t keep the hint of disgust from my voice.
“Don’t you like him? He’s so cute.”
“Cute isn’t everything, but he has his moments.”
“I hear he’s having some kids over to his house tonight.” She gives me a hopeful look and then gestures toward her clothes, which I only now notice are pretty cute for a school night at home. “Can we go?”
I frown and shake my head. “I don’t know anything about this. How do you?”
As soon as I ask the question, I regret it. Her eyes look hurt. “God, Kenzie, you’re not the only one with Facebook friends. I got some spillover from your newfound popularity, remember?”
“I haven’t been on Facebook since I got home.”
“You think we can go?”
“To Josh’s house?” That might be the last place on earth I want to go. “My mom would never let me.” And for once, I’m grateful.
“Just tell her you’re coming over to my house.”
“I don’t want to go,” I say honestly. “I have a ton of homework, and—”
My phone buzzes with a text. Instinct tells me it’s Levi, who I’ve been texting on and off all evening. When I don’t pick it up right away, she reaches for the phone. “Here—”
I grab it from her, not ready for a lecture about the dangers of Levi Sterling.
“Sorry!” She opens her hand and dramatically lets go. “It’s not like I haven’t read your texts before.” She angles her head and adds a meaningful look. “Before the list.”
“Stop it, Molly. Nothing’s changed.”
“Yeah, right.”
“It hasn’t.”
“Then who just texted you?”
I flip the phone over and read the name. “It’s …”
“Amanda Wilson,” she says out loud, reading over my shoulder. “Is she your new BFF now?”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Molly.” I touch the screen to read the text. “I barely know her.”
Emergency meeting of the Sisters of the List TONIGHT.
“The Sisters of the List?” Molly almost gags on the phrase. “Who says that?”
Our favorite joke question sounds real, and pained. “I told you, it’s just a … thing.”
“Is that seriously what you call yourselves now?” she demands. “A sister with girls like Amanda Wilson and Kylie Leff?”
“Five minutes ago you wanted to go to a party with them,” I shoot back, irritated and wishing I could just text Amanda without being drilled.
“Kenzie.” Her voice lifts in a little whine. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why are you doing this?” I demand. The phone buzzes again with another text. I force myself to look at Molly and not the message. I can’t remember the last time we had a fight. Sixth grade? Seventh? But why is she acting like a baby? “I’m not allowed to have other friends?”
“You promised you’d bring me along.” She crosses her arms, a challenge in the eyes that rarely look at me in any way but with friendship. “You promised.”
“I know, but I’m not going anywhere tonight.” Another text comes in and I lose the battle, touching the screen to see this one is from Dena.
Want me to pick you up? I can be there in 10 min.
Of course, Molly reads it. “Dena Herbert?” she asks.
I nod, tapping Reply. “I’m not going anywhere tonight,” I say again, more forcefully this time.
“Even if I go with you?”
I look up from the phone without having typed a text. “Molly, I don’t want to go.”
“You don’t want to go with me,” she says.
“That’s not true. I don’t want to go out tonight.”
“Because I’m not a Sister of the List.” She mocks the name, and with good reason. But her hurt and anger and jealousy aren’t funny right now. I just look down at the phone as another text comes in, this one from Bree Walker.