AFTER SCHOOL ON WEDNESDAY, WHITNEY, Lin, and I agree to help Raegan and a few other students from our year build the homecoming float for the junior class. The parade is a week from today, but she’s afraid that with everyone’s schedules we won’t be able to get it done on time.

I’m surrounded by flatbed trailers that we will decorate and hitch to trucks, most of which came from volunteer dads. Principal Lawrence allowed the trailers to sit in the back of the faculty parking lot while we worked on this, which was good because there were nearly a dozen floats and not much room anywhere else on school grounds.

Leadership Council decided “Sensational Swashbucklers” would be the junior class theme, which is why there are eight of us surrounding our flatbed in attempt to transform it into a pirate ship. Raegan lays out the blueprint and I try to envision how we’re going to pull this off with our unimpressive materials that consist of chicken wire, burlap, poster board, paint, and a staple gun.

“Okay,” Raegan says. Her dark hair is twisted into tiny braids and pulled back into a classy bun. She’s holding two rolls of cellophane—one clear and one blue. “Before we can start on the ship, let’s lay this down as the base. It’ll be the water.”

“I don’t see how we’re supposed to build this ship,” Lin says, still staring at the blueprint. “It’s pretty complicated.”

Raegan narrows her eyes.

Lin shuts up.

The cellophane is the easy part. After scrunching and stapling layers to the base of the flatbed, it begins to look like the choppy seas. Raegan walks around the perimeter and uses the staple gun to secure a silver fringe bed skirt for flair.

Half an hour later, Whitney plops down on the asphalt and scrolls through her phone. Deciding that I need a break, I sit down next to her.

Ever since Breck’s party she’s been slightly warmer toward me, but our conversations are surface-level. Like what time dance practice ends and the number of essays we’ve had to complete for our English classes. They’re baby steps, but it feels like progress.

“She was more fun when she was less tyrannical,” Whitney says as we watch Raegan lecture Tyler Hornsby about using too many staples.

I don’t disagree. “Do you think the baby is putting her more on edge?”

Whitney shrugs, looping her thick brown hair into a secure ponytail. “Maybe.”

I glance back at Raegan. She’s hovering over Tyler’s shoulder, monitoring his staple usage. She’s always been the take-charge type of person. In second grade she was the one who started the unofficial red rover tournaments at recess. When she decided to take up dance in middle school, she stayed committed to it. She was the only one at her studio who never missed a single class.

I immediately feel guilty. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own problems that I haven’t even made the effort to talk to her about how she feels about her mom’s pregnancy. Maybe staying busy with all these organizations and activities is her way of coping.

Whitney’s gone back to scrolling through her phone. I wonder if she still feels weird about the whole Jay thing. She never brings him up—probably to spare my feelings—but I don’t want him to be the thing holding our friendship back. It’s time to start making some strides in my twelve steps. She’s near the top, so I try and make a better effort.

“Have you and Jay coordinated what you’re wearing to the homecoming dance?”

Even though I keep my voice casual, she looks at me in surprise.

“Uh, yeah, actually.” She lowers her phone away from her face. “I found this dress? It’s amazing. The embroidery is so classy. It’s blue and white, and Jay bought a tie to match.” She pauses, then meets my gaze. “Are you going?”

“To the dance?”

Whitney nods.

“Oh. I don’t know.”

She turns back to her phone. In a soft voice she goes, “I think you should.”

Now it’s my turn to be surprised. “Really?”

She shrugs at her screen.

“Okay,” I tell her, feeling a little more hopeful. “I’ll think about it.”

“Well think fast. It’s next weekend, in case you forgot.”

We glance at the homecoming float. “Who could forget with Raegan around?”

Raegan, as if she’s heard us, looks over and hollers, “We need all hands on deck.”

Whitney rolls her eyes. “She’s literally speaking pirate now.”

I laugh, and she smiles. For a fraction of a second, the tension eases between us.

I stand up. “Tell her I’m going to grab water. I’ll be right back.”

She nods, waving me off.

September is coming to an end, and we’re having one of those rare days that really feels like fall. The cool shift came out of nowhere. I had to borrow Raegan’s extra Wavette sweatshirt to protect me from the slight chill in the breeze.

I’m heading toward the double doors of the school when I hear footsteps coming up behind me. When I turn around, I see Alex heading in my direction.

He’s wearing his black beanie atop his head of curls. The black sleeves of his shirt are pushed up to his elbows, and I can only guess he’s working on one of his many theater projects.

My lips pull into a smile as he nears. “I didn’t know you were out here.”

He gestures across the parking lot. “I’m helping with the theater float. They only want me for my building skills.” He turns toward me, holding up an empty toolbox. “We need more nails, but I think there’s an extra box in the shop.”

“What’s your float’s theme?”

“Little Shop of Horrors,” he replies, his eyes animated with excitement. “Mrs. Henson announced that’s going to be our musical this year, so everyone’s pretty excited about it.”

I’ve never even heard of it, but his enthusiasm is infectious. “That’s awesome.”

We fall into step as we walk inside. Students have already gotten a jump-start on decorating the hallways for Spirit Week. Bright posters plaster nearly every inch of free space stating things like DEFEAT THE JAGUARS and WILDBOARS WILL WIN.

I turn to Alex. “Are you going to homecoming?”

Alex fumbles to keep a grasp on the toolbox for a moment before it slips through his grasp and onto the linoleum floor with a loud smack. He quickly picks it up. When he looks back at me, I notice his face is flushed.

Oh. Oh CRAP.

From the uncomfortable look on his face, I can tell he thinks I’m dropping a hint about the dance. Which, no.

Well, not that it would be a bad thing. Going with Alex, I mean.

Wait. Do I want to go to homecoming with Alex?

I can tell he’s searching for a way to try and let me down easy. “Uh—”

I think fast, trying to backtrack. “It’s just that, you know, Raegan was wondering about the head count at the pep rally. She, uh, doesn’t think too many people will show up this year. Which is crazy. Everyone loves homecoming. Well, maybe not everyone. That’s kind of a blanket statement, but… well. Yeah.”

Wow, what a spectacular speech. Where’s my Oscar?

“Oh.” Does Alex look… relieved? He could at least try and hide it. Do I come off like I’d be that terrible of a date? “Yeah, sure. Are you performing?”

“With the Wavettes?” As soon as I ask it, I realize it’s a silly question. No, Kira, he’s wondering if you’ll be performing WITH THE CIRCUS.

Alex laughs. “Yeah.”

I nod. “Mandatory.”

His brown eyes linger on mine a moment. “Okay, sure. Count me in.”

“Cool.” I’m having trouble returning eye contact. “Raegan will be happy.”

Alex gives me a strange look, like that wasn’t what he was expecting to hear.

“Well, I better get those nails so we can finish the replica of Audrey II.”

“Aubrey who?”

He grins. “You were never a fan of musicals.”

I lift my hands in the air. “Guilty.”

“It’s the talking monster plant in Little Shop,” he explains. “I’m in charge of creating it, actually.” His face lights up. “I can show you once it’s finished, if you want. Mrs. Henson thinks we can spruce it up even more and use it in the show.”

I nod, and mean it when I say, “I’d love to.”

He lifts the toolbox, glancing down toward the theater wing. “I’d better—”

“Yeah,” I say, feeling my face flush. God, what is wrong with me? “I’ll see you later.”

He smiles, then heads to the woodshop classroom. My heart pounds as I make my way toward the vending machine. I put my dollar in and retrieve a water bottle, but the thumping doesn’t cease. I don’t even realize Whitney’s pushing through the double doors until I nearly run into her.

“Whoa.” She stares at me for a moment. “Uh, you okay?”

“Yeah,” I say quickly.

She moves past me, shrugging it off. I steal one last glance down the theater hallway before shoving the door open and heading to the parking lot.