I’M RIDING IN THE PASSENGER seat as Peach drives my car to the DMV on Saturday morning. My dad was called in to Cedarville Elementary to fix the faulty sprinkler system, so Peach volunteered to take me in his place. Considering how our conversation ended last night, it’s probably for the best.

I’m plugged into the music on my iPhone to avoid any type of small talk. I only agreed to go with Peach because I can’t stand not having my own car. If I get this over with, I’ll have my freedom back. Starting with booking it to Raegan’s as soon as we get home.

Peach pulls into a parking spot and turns off the engine. I yank off my headphones and get out before she has the chance to say anything.

“You must be so excited,” Peach says as she catches up to me. I don’t know how, considering she’s wearing strappy red heels paired with another one of her long Mary Poppins skirts.

“I am,” I tell her. Excited to finally come and go as I please.

Sharing the house hasn’t exactly been blissful. If I want to take a hot shower I have to wake up at six in the morning instead of my usual seven-thirty routine. Otherwise I’m stuck with cold water, thanks to Nonnie and Peach. Then I have to pretend I’m interested in my daily horoscope that Saylor insists on reading to me every morning when I really just want to eat my cereal in peace. I’m also almost positive that I have Queen’s greatest hits memorized thanks to Nonnie’s continual obsession with playing the CD at every given opportunity.

Excited might be a bit of an understatement.

The cool blast of air conditioning hits us as we enter the DMV. It smells like body odor and cleaning supplies. There are dozens of people sitting in the plastic chairs in the waiting area, but we have to wait in line for our ticket before we can join them.

“Are you up to anything fun today?” Peach asks.

I keep it brief. “Going to a friend’s.”

Peach smiles. “How fun. Your dad talks so highly of your friends.” When I don’t respond, she continues. “Did I tell you I might have found a pastry chef opening near Claremore? I’m stopping by to chat with management later on this afternoon.”

I watch the people in front of us talk to the woman at the main information desk before taking a ticket out of the machine. “Oh,” I say distractedly. “Is that where you used to live?”

She sits up a little straighter. “Yes.”

I don’t say it, but I want to ask if that’s where she’ll go if she gets the job.

When it’s our turn to step up, Peach leans over and tells the woman that I’m here to register for a Texas license. I’m a little annoyed by her authority, but I let it slide. The woman asks me if I have my current out-of-state license, birth certificate, and social security card on hand. I do, so she quickly types something into her computer and tells me to take the ticket out of the machine.

Peach follows me into the waiting area and sits down next to me. An electronic voice calls numbers over the loudspeaker while we wait. I pull out my phone and send a text to Raegan, telling her that I’ll be there in half an hour. She responds with a grinning emoji followed by a dozen exclamation marks.

“Everyone looks thrilled to be here, huh?” Peach says.

I look around at all the glum, bored faces. She’s smiling when I glance back at her, like she’s told a really excellent joke.

I turn back to my phone. “Ecstatic.”

“My mother used to say that waiting at the DMV could have been one of Dante’s nine circles of hell.”

I wonder if another layer is living with three annoying people I barely know.

Peach takes a deep breath. “I know how it feels,” she starts, “to have someone you love pass away at a young age. My mother died when I was seventeen.”

I stiffen. I don’t want to talk about Grams with anyone, especially Peach. Especially not at the DMV.

My dad’s struggle with alcohol fluctuated after Grams passed. I told my social worker that because it was true. When he first started AA, he seemed like he was doing better. He’d take me to school and came to see me dance at all the football games, but that slowly changed. Even after Aunt June flew in as reinforcement, my dad became withdrawn, lonely. It hurt that he wouldn’t talk to me like he used to.

I can feel Peach’s gaze on me, but I don’t say anything.

The electronic voice calls my number a few minutes later. I launch out of my seat and walk over to the proper booth. Peach follows closely behind me and sits next to me as I fill out my paperwork. I give the woman my documents and pay the fee with my dad’s debit card. After taking an updated picture, I’m given a temporary license and told I’ll receive mine in a week or so.

Peach is quiet as we walk back to the car. Relief floods my chest as I hold on to my tangible piece of freedom.

I’m in a much better mood as she drives us home. A part of me wants to ask her how her mother died and why she’s so nice to me and why she insists on making me my lunch in the morning. But I don’t.

Once we get to the house, she hands over my keys with a quick “congratulations” before walking inside and shutting the door behind her.

Hanging out at Raegan’s house is less of hanging out and more of a nonstop assembly line of work.

I wish I was kidding.

We’re sitting on her porch in her backyard armed with pencils, rulers, paint pens, and glitter glue. The swampy heat makes it hard to grip my paint pen. Raegan has us working on Spirit Week posters because she doesn’t trust the cheerleaders to get them done on time.

I quickly discovered that there’s no talking sense into Raegan when she has a one-track mind on her presidential duties. Whitney is using a pen to create bubble letters since she has the best handwriting while Lin and I fill in her letters with red paint. When we finish, Raegan outlines them in gold glitter glue.

“It’s so hot out here,” Whitney whines as her hand curves the letter O. “Why can’t we do this inside?”

Raegan rolls her eyes. “My dad’s afraid the fumes will harm the baby.”

When Raegan’s mom answered the door when I’d arrived, it looked as if she were hoarding a beach ball under her stretchy maternity dress. Even though Lin told me she is due in November, I was still a bit surprised.

“Kira!” She gave me a quick side hug. “It’s so good to have you back.”

“Thank you,” I told her as I stepped inside. “Congratulations on your expectancy.”

“Only two more months.” She patted her stomach gently. “But Lord, I’m ready any day now.”

Now Raegan wipes her brow with the back of her hand. “Did this really have to happen during my junior year? I don’t know how I’m supposed to study for the SATs if she’ll be crying all night.”

“Typical,” Lin comments. “You’re worrying about problems that don’t even exist.”

Whitney and I laugh. Our eyes meet briefly, but she’s quick to turn back to her work.

It’s hard to not take offense to the obvious distance Whitney’s placed between us. She hasn’t exactly been super forthcoming whenever we’re together. Even though I’m back on the team, she doesn’t seem like she really cares. It’s as if she’d rather have me back in Portland, and that hurts.

“Ohmigod.” Whitney whips her head up, a sly smile playing on her lips.

“What? Did you mess up?” Raegan leans over to examine her work. “I told you to use a pencil—”

Whitney rolls her eyes. “No, chill.” She sits up a little straighter. Her glossy brown hair is pulled back into a perfect ponytail. “I was only wondering if y’all heard what happened in Mrs. Donaldson’s class yesterday?”

I freeze, the paint pen hovering over the Y I’d been coloring. I had been trying to put the Radical Races mishap behind me, but it sounds like my incompetence is already circulating through school.

My heart sinks. It isn’t fair. I was the target of gossip last year after the intersection incident with my dad. Do people really have to talk about the fact that I can’t solve an algebra problem? I bet there will be rumors on Monday that I’ll have to be put into remedial math. Which—no.

“Mrs. Donaldson’s class?” Lin repeats as she colors the A in MONDAY on the slick poster board.

I stare at Whitney, silently begging her not to tell our friends.

But my telepathy doesn’t work because she goes on. “You know Alex Ramos?”

Wait… Alex?

Raegan shakes her glitter pen. “Yeah. He’s always late to homeroom.”

I tilt my head, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. I don’t understand. I was there. What does he have to do with anything? Alex solved the problem while I couldn’t. Unless he made fun of me behind my back when I stormed out of class.

Oh god. Please, please, please don’t let that be the case.

Whitney’s eyes light up like they do when she’s the first to spill gossip. “Okay, well, apparently he was up at the board doing those algebra races Mrs. Donaldson makes her class do sometimes. But instead of solving the problem he solved for the square root of ‘SUCK IT.’ Like, that’s literally what he wrote on the board! Can you believe it?”

My anxiety drains from me. Did he really write that? I’m not sure. I never looked at his answer. But if Whitney’s telling the truth, then the class wasn’t laughing at me. They were laughing at him.

Lin’s eyes widen in amusement. “Are you serious? I hate Mrs. Donaldson, too, but I would never.”

Raegan shakes her head in disapproval. “Why would he do that?”

Exactly. Why would he do that? Was he pissed because Mrs. Donaldson caught him sleeping? It’s safe to say everyone hates Radical Races, but he has to put up with her wrath for an entire year. I don’t know why he didn’t just solve it.

Unless.

Unless he knew I couldn’t work the problem out for myself. But that doesn’t make sense. Why would he willingly put an unnecessary spotlight on himself? That’s unlike him. Besides, it’s not like he has a reason to be nice to me.

Lin looks at me. “Aren’t you in that class, Kira?”

Everyone is staring at me now. I open my mouth to reply, but I don’t want to tell them why I booked it out of there.

Whitney shrugs. “That’s what I heard from Kayla Walsh, anyway.”

Kayla is in my class. She’s not one to spread unnecessary gossip. I decide she’s a trustworthy source. “Yeah, I am,” I say. “It was unexpected.”

Raegan draws a few swirls with her gold glitter glue. “People shouldn’t disrespect teachers like that.”

Whitney playfully throws a marker at her. “Oh, lighten up. It was funny.”

Raegan ignores her. I focus on filling in the rest of my letters, still wondering why Alex would do that. He’s the type of person who generally stays under the radar—aside from his asthma attacks. But that hasn’t happened since fifth grade gym class. And he runs with the drama crowd, which means he has to keep up a certain GPA or become at risk of being suspended from theater activities. So why would he intentionally get on Donaldson’s bad side?

The back door opens. Mrs. Mahoy waddles out, shaking a carton of lemonade.

“I figured you girls must be thirsty.” She smiles. “Can I pour y’all a glass?”

“Sure,” Lin says, and I nod in agreement.

“Do we have any that’s not from concentrate?” Raegan asks.

“No.”

“Then no, thanks.”

Her mother sighs, then pours three glasses for the rest of us. “You know, soon enough you won’t be the only princess in this house.” She lays a hand over her belly.

“Trust me, I know.”

Her mom laughs. “The posters look great.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Even though Spirit Week isn’t until early October.”

Raegan glares at me. “Do you know how much I have to do before then?” Her mom takes this as her cue to leave, most likely well aware of what her daughter has to do before then. “Help organize the pep rallies, make sure the team has our routine down—oh, and help out with the homecoming parade. Plus there’s everything I have to do for Spirit Week.”

Lin gives me a deadpan stare. “Look what you’ve done.”

“Where’s the off switch?” Whitney says, playfully tapping Raegan’s forearm.

Raegan just gives us the finger.

When Lin and I finish our third poster, Whitney passes us another one. This one reads, WEAR YOUR MUMS & GARTERS WITH WILD PRIDE! GET PSYCHED FOR GAME DAY!

“Ugh, I hate this dumb tradition,” Lin says as she starts filling in the W. “It’s worse than Valentine’s Day.”

I don’t know how the tradition began, to be honest. Every year on homecoming girls wear fake chrysanthemums given to them by their dates. Guys typically wear garters. Both are decorated in school-colored ribbons, tacky bells, and other obnoxious trinkets that dangle down from the base of the flower, which is worn pinned to your shirt, bra strap, or worn around your neck—depending on the weight of it. The bigger and tackier, the better.

The mum I received from Jay seemed thoughtless, even though I would never tell him that. A few limp ribbons dangled from the base. There weren’t any colorful tassels or long strands of beads. Nothing sparkled. But I smiled and told him it was great, even though I’d spent hours at the craft store choosing heart cut-outs to include on his garter.

“I’ll make you a mum,” I say, knowing I’ll be dateless this year. “I’ll even get one of those music boxes from the craft store and make it play our fight song. Oh, and those twinkling lights that you can turn on and off.”

Lin grins. “Only if you staple three mums together, not one. I’m a three-mum kind of lady.”

“Duh.”

Whitney isn’t laughing, and neither is Raegan. I know they’re all about school spirit and tradition, but they can’t deny that it does single out all the singles.

I need more lemonade before I pass out from dehydration. I grab my empty glass and stand up at the exact time Whitney does. She must have the same idea because her glass is empty, too. We glance at each other for a moment before starting toward the back door.

We’re both quiet as we enter the kitchen. Raegan’s parents have always kept a spotless house. It’s a staging habit from her father’s realtor career. There isn’t a single crumb on the large granite island. The kitchen appliances are neatly aligned near the sink along with matching folded dish towels.

Her parents aren’t around, but I can hear the faint sound of TV coming from upstairs. I make my way toward the fridge and pull out the lemonade.

I know I should bring up Jay. I don’t want to, but I also don’t want things to continue to be tense between us. Making amends with her is part of my twelve steps, and dancing around the topic of Jay won’t get us anywhere.

“So, um,” I start, pouring the lemonade over melting ice. “You and Jay.”

Her hand tightens around her glass. “Me and Jay,” she repeats.

She’s making me do all the hard work. I take a deep breath. “Look, I know I wasn’t a good friend while I was gone. I get that everyone’s lives went on without me, but… I don’t know. I guess I want to say it’s okay. I mean, that I’m okay. With you and Jay.”

Well. That didn’t come out as smoothly as I hoped.

Whitney stares at me, her expression unreadable. Finally, she takes the carton I set down and fills her glass.

“I know it was hard being sent to Portland after everything you went through with your dad, but we’re your friends.” She sets the carton down a little too forcefully. “We wanted to be there for you. I wanted to be there for you. I tried.”

Guilt twists in my stomach. “I’m sorry—”

“I had no idea if we’d ever see you again, and you were my best friend.” I note her use of past tense. It stings. “What was I supposed to do? Keep reaching out so I could get more silence in return?”

I shake my head. “It was hard for me, okay? I felt really alone out there.”

“We never wanted you to feel that way,” Whitney says, her voice rising in the way it always does when she gets emotional. “It’s like… you didn’t even appreciate the friends who cared about you.”

“That’s not how I felt,” I try.

She puts the lemonade back in the fridge, letting it shut loudly behind her. She looks right into my eyes as she carves out her next words. “But that’s how it felt to me.”

Without another word, she turns and goes back outside.

I take my glass in my hand, shocked by her honesty. She’s right. I did take them for granted, especially when they wanted to make sure I was okay. It’s what my dad did to Aunt June and me when she came down for Grams’s funeral: Shut us out, immersed himself in his own loneliness. It was so frustrating seeing him turn into a closed-off stranger. Yet I’d done the same thing to my friends and blamed it on my own misery.

After June convinced my dad to go to AA meetings, she used to tell me how strong I was for getting through this hard time. We would talk about the happy memories we had with Grams, remembering her hidden stashes of Reese’s and how she’d read us her collection of Dr. Seuss books when we were younger. I told myself I was nothing like him.

Now I’m not so sure.

I stare at my lemonade glass until condensation beads slip slowly down my hands and onto the pristine floor.