as their footsteps thundered across the porch.
“What happened?” Paloma asked, hands on her hips.
I shrugged. “I tripped.”
Hanna raised a skeptical eyebrow. “On?”
Inwardly sighing, I forced another smile. “A tree root.”
I picked at the paint chipping on the bench, but I could feel Hanna’s gaze.
“You, Zelda-girl, are leaving out details.”
I shook my head. “Nope. I just wasn’t looking.”
“Because you were looking at . . .”
“Can we not—here?” I begged. “Are you done for the day or what?”
Hanna smirked. “Done. Where are we going?”
Will looked like he had something else to say, but Jonas swept him away.
Hanna plopped down in Will’s chair. “You were saying?
“I wasn’t,” I said. “Not here.”
“To Gilda Radner!” Hanna announced.
Ten very slow, hobble-y minutes later, Paloma and Hanna and I retreated to the inner sanctum that was Gilda Radner.
Hanna dug into her bag and pulled out a package of Twizzlers. We climbed onto her bunk, side-by-side-by-side and leaned against the wall, legs out in front of us.
“By the way,” Hanna said, ripping open the bag, “I stole these Twizzlers from some Varsity guy’s backpack.” She bit into one straight from the package.
“Hanna!” Paloma and I protested.
She smirked. “Also Jolly Ranchers. Candy stolen from jerks tastes extra delicious.”
We shook our heads at her, but I accepted a Twizzler and secretly agreed.
The screen door banged open, revealing Sirena and Emily.
“We just ran into Jonas and Will,” Emily panted.
Sirena crossed the cabin in a few short strides and plucked two Twizzlers from Hanna’s bag, passing one off to Emily.
“Stolen Twizzlers, Sirena,” Paloma warned her.
“From?” Sirena hesitated.
“That Varsity ass with the beady eyes.”
She flipped her braids over her shoulder. “Well done.”
Paloma huffed a little, but I noticed it didn’t stop her from plucking her own Twizzler out of the bag.
Then the two of them settled themselves on the bunk across from us. Taking a big bite from their Twizzlers in unison, Sirena nodded. “I knew you weren’t okay earlier. What happened?”
I swallowed. And then for the second time that day, I spilled.
?
“He wrote a sketch about you being a bad kisser?” A tear stole out of Emily’s eye. Lip trembling, she swiped it away and leaned into Sirena. “That’s . . . so mean.” The others were slack-jawed with shock.
The shock on my behalf fueled my desire to continue to confess. When I got to the hike with the Boy Scouts, Paloma interrupted me. “Wait wait wait. Ben likes you. Do you like him?”
I hesitated. “Uh—wait a second until I get to the foot injury.”
“Oh my god,” Hanna grabbed my shoulders and turned me toward her. “Zelda-girl, there are three sculpted man-cubs who also like you. You have four—”
“The Boy Scouts don’t like me,” I argued, pulling out of her grasp. “We’re friends.”
Everyone exchanged a skeptical look.
“We have already agreed upon your assets,” Sirena waved a hand like this was a done deal. “Zelda. You have four boys in pursuit of you.”
I folded my arms. “Murph has a girlfriend—”
“Three. Still unreal.”
“I really don’t think—”
“Continue.” Hanna interrupted me now, pulling out the bag of stolen Jolly Ranchers. “Please don’t leave out any details. Was there Boy Scout kissing?”
My chest felt tight. “No, but—”
“But?!” That was everyone.
I told them about the fall and Ben and the Nurse’s office.
“What?!” Paloma squawked. She scrambled off the bed. She looked ready to find him and punch him in the face. “That guy is a Class A asshole.”
“But—” I accepted a handful of Jolly Ranchers from Hanna. “He did all the things someone does when they like you . . . right?”
“On the surface, maybe.” Sirena looked to the others for backup.
“I said it before.” Emily blinked away another tear. “He seems mean.”
“He’s not mean,” I said.
“He wrote a sketch about you being a bad—” Paloma began, fists clenched.
“Yes, yes, I’m a terrible kisser—that’s been well-established,” I snapped.
Sirena cocked her head at me. “Okay, but how much kissing have you done in your life?”
I traced the lines of plaid on the sleeping bag I was sitting on. “Just . . . with . . . him.”
No one said anything.
“Okay.” Paloma rejoined me on the bed. “Indulge me for a second. Can you ride a bike?”
“Yes.”
“Could you the first time you tried?”
I folded my arms. “No.”
She poked me in the arm. “What did it take to learn?”
I rolled my eyes. “Practice.”
“And who taught you?”
“My dad.”
“And did he write a mocking sketch about how terrible you were at it the first time you tried?”
“Of course not,” I mumbled, shifting on the bunk. Some Jolly Rancher wrappers drifted to the floor.
“Of