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  “How can I help?” Ryan asked.

  “Help?” I couldn’t remember what we’d been talking about. I felt in agony. Should I tell Ryan about the kiss, or wait until I’d talked to Paxton?

  “With clearing your name.”

  I blinked. “You really want to help?” Maybe, I thought, maybe even if Ryan and I didn’t work out, we could still be friends.

  “Yeah.” Ryan took my hand again, and squeezed. I squeezed back.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Did you hear?” Hayley murmured to me in cheerleading practice on Monday. I say “practice,” but it was more like “party.” It was a short week, with Thanksgiving on Thursday, so for the two-and-a-half days we had school the squad was spending our normal practice time team-building. Today we were chowing down on pizza and watching a cheer video.

  “Hear what?” I took a bite of green-pepper-and-onion. At least Hayley and I were still on speaking terms, though this morning she’d rebuffed another offer to get waffles sometime. I’d keep working on her.

  “Alina’s parents are getting a divorce.”

  I nearly spit out my pizza. “When did this happen?”

  “I just heard at lunch. Sucks, huh?”

  “Is she okay?”

  “She says she’s fine,” Hayley said. “She seemed upset, though.”

  Later, after Lindsay dropped me off, I couldn’t help but worry about Alina. Everyone thought Alina had tons of friends, and she did ... but she didn’t confide in many. It had taken until ninth grade, when I came over unannounced and found her sobbing in her room, for Alina to start opening up to me, and even afterwards only when I pushed.

  I wanted to go see if she was alright. Well, scratch that--if her parents were divorcing, Alina was the opposite of alright. But we weren’t friends anymore, and I’d vowed not to let our cold freeze thaw until she verbalized an apology.

  Then again, this was Alina. Despite everything, I still wished daily that we were friends again. Okay, she was a grade-A bitch sometimes, but she had a lot of good sides too. And I knew her, knew she was trapped in the bubble of perfection she wanted everyone to see. She wouldn’t pop it to reach out to me. It occurred to me that maybe she didn’t know how.

  Then again ... I thought about the cafeteria milk, how she’d turned on me. Maybe Alina deserved to be miserable and alone. Poetic justice, right?

  I grabbed my purse anyway. I didn’t have a way over to Alina’s house, but I thought I knew how to fix that. I slicked on lip gloss, locked up, and jogged over to Paxton’s. His car was in the driveway. Nervousness fluttered in my stomach as I trotted up the steps and rang the doorbell. After a couple of minutes, Paxton opened the door. I smiled, feeling self-conscious. How was I supposed to act after we’d spent five minutes all over each other?

  “What do you want?” Paxton didn’t look happy to see me. I hesitated. What if he regretted kissing me, or wished we could forget the whole thing?

  “Hi yourself.” I tried another smile, but Paxton just waited. I’d wanted to talk about what happened before going over to Alina’s, but Paxton looked so unwelcoming that I scrapped that plan. “Uh, can I borrow your car? I need transportation over to the Swanky Estates.” Alina’s neighborhood was called Highland Manor or something, but I liked my name for it better.

  Paxton’s brows crept together until they were like a line of blonde thunderclouds. “You’re serious? You’re really asking to borrow my car to go over there?”

  “My parents are out, so I can’t borrow theirs.” I shifted uncertainly. Paxton looked pissed. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  Paxton’s hands, one on the door jamb and the other curled around his crutch’s crossbar, tightened. “Mind that you’re using my own freaking car to visit him?”

  Him? Oh. My hands flew into a don’t-shoot pose.

  “Whoa. I’m going to see Alina.”

  Paxton blinked. “Alina? Why?”

  “Her parents are getting a divorce.” He didn’t seem to get it. “To Alina, that’s on par with a volcano exploding in San Francisco.”

  “I thought you guys weren’t talking.”

  “We’re not.”

  “Is she even going to let you in the door?”

  Not sure whether I was more annoyed with Paxton for assuming I’d been going to visit Ryan or for questioning my plan, I said, “Are you going to let me borrow your car or not?”

  Paxton stared at me, then turned and hobbled to the hall closet, grabbed his car keys from the hook inside, and tossed them to me. I caught them with one hand.

  Paxton swung over on his crutches until he stood before the threshold again. I thought he might kiss me, or ask what was going on with Ryan, what we’d been talking about when he saw us on the stoop yesterday.

  Paxton shut the door in my face.

  Chapter 21

  What the hell! was still running laps inside my head when I jabbed the Roses’ doorbell fifteen minutes later. How dare Paxton kiss me like crazy one day, then just--

  The door opened, pushing Paxton out of my head in favor of the immediate awkwardness of confronting Mrs. Rose, who must still believe I set fire to her neighbor’s boat. Did she, like Alina, think I’d nearly killed Mr. Rose?

  “Rose,” Mrs. Rose said in surprise. Her eyes were red, the lids puffy.

  “Ididn’tsetthefirepleasebelieveme,” I blurted, and hoped she wouldn’t call the neighborhood security guard.

  Mrs. Rose stared at me. Lines appeared by her eyes and mouth. “I wish you had burned him in his boat,” she finally said. She looked pinched now, like a beautiful, angry witch. I was a little afraid of her. Cold shuddered through me, but Mrs. Rose didn’t seem to notice she’d just said she wanted me to be guilty of manslaughter.

  Then her face wobbled, as if she were about to cry. She turned away, padding in designer slippers to the hidden bar in the front parlor. “Alina’s upstairs.” Mrs. Rose poured herself a tumbler of gin. I closed the door behind me and fled up the grand staircase.

  Alina’s door was shut. I knocked softly. “Come in,” Alina called, and my pulse raced. I hoped I wasn’t about to get a face full of screaming. I opened the door. Alina was sprawled on her bed, reading a textbook. She glanced up, then scrambled to a sitting position.

  “Who let you in?”

  “Piper,” I said, even though the pug was sitting on the bed next to Alina. She held him down from leaping up to greet me, but his little curled tail wiggled. “He almost threw me out when he realized I forgot to bring him liver bits.”

  Alina let Piper go. “Well, he can let you back out.” The dog leapt from the bed and raced over to put his front paws up on my shin. I bent to pet him.

  “I heard about your parents,” I said from my crouching position.

  “On second thought, you can let yourself out.” Alina came over and snatched her dog away, cradling him. “Why are you even here?”

  Good question. I’d thought I was coming to offer sympathy, but now I realized that wasn’t the main reason. I tried to find a way to put it nicely.

  “To tell you you’re a shitty friend,” was what popped out of my mouth.

  Alina’s jaw dropped. “Glad you stopped by, criminal. Get out of my house.”

  I didn’t move. “That’s all you have to say, Alina? We were best friends, and you really have nothing to say beyond get out of my house?”

  “What else should I say?”

  “That you’re sorry. For not believing me.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “I didn’t set the fire, Alina. Somewhere inside, you know that.” She rolled her eyes, then stared at the wall. I thought she’d kick me out, but several seconds later, she was still staring at the wall, and I knew I was right.

  I waited, arms crossed, until it dawned on me that Alina really wou
ld prefer never speaking to me again to admitting she was wrong. Tears pricked my eyes. Time to stop kicking at the dead horse of our friendship.

  “Anyway, the other reason I stopped by was to say I’m sorry about your parents.”

  Finally Alina turned her head. “Like you care.”

  “I do care. Believe it or not.” My lips stretched upwards, but I felt like crying. “Though I guess we both know you won’t.” This was pointless. I turned to go.

  I was halfway out the door when I heard her say it.

  “I’m sorry.” Alina’s voice was barely a whisper. I stopped, still facing the hallway. I heard a creak, as if she’d sat down hard on her bed, and then I heard her start to cry. “I’m sorry.”

  I turned around. Piper whined and licked Alina’s hands, which covered her face. My instinct was to go hug Alina, tell her it was okay, but ... it wasn’t. I understood now, why Hayley didn’t want to hang out anymore, why Juliette had been mad for so long. Sorry didn’t stop the anger. So I just stood there.

  “Everything’s my fault,” Alina said through her tears. “You hate me, and my dad left us, and my mom drinks herself into a coma every night, and it’s all my fault.”

  I sighed. “Your parents splitting up is not your fault,” I said, but Alina just cried harder. I stood stone-faced at the door until I couldn’t stand it anymore, and then I went over and hugged her, my ex-best-friend who I loved and hated and, right now, felt really sorry for.

  The scent of tangerines on Alina’s hair was so familiar I felt my own tears well, but I shoved them away. Alina had turned on me like a rabid dog, then ignored me for weeks, and now I was comforting her? What the hell? But I just held her, breathing in that damn tangerine perfume, until her tears ebbed.

  I broke free to hand her the tissue box on her nightstand.

  “I’m so, so sorry for not believing you,” Alina said. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” She gave me a watery smile. “Friends again?”

  I just stared at her, and her smile wavered.

  “Will you tell me what really happened that night?” she asked.

  I didn’t want to, and after a moment I pinpointed why.

  “If I hadn’t come over today, would you have ever even spoken to me again?”

  Alina flushed, looking down. She twisted a tissue in her lap. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry for being an awful friend.” Her dark eyes flashed up to mine, pleading. “What more can I say, Rose? I’m sorry. For everything. Please.”

  I jumped up and paced the room, then stopped. Alina was apologizing, begging for forgiveness. It was just what I’d craved all those weeks. What more did I want?

  So I sat down again and told her. About being dragged to jail in the middle of the night, and that whole horrible weekend, and having to sign the confession so my dad wouldn’t lose his job.

  “Then who set the fire?” Alina asked when I finished. “I know at first you said it was Paxton ...”

  “It wasn’t Paxton.” I told her about breaking into Paxton’s room, him showing me his X-rays and offering to help, all the way up to the kiss on Saturday and his weirdness this afternoon. “And I think he’s probably mad because I was talking to Ryan, but today he totally blew me off,” I finished. “I mean, does he expect me never to speak to Ryan again?”

  Alina’s dark eyes were round, like an owl’s. “I am still trying to get over you kissing Paxton. Paxton Callaway?” she said, as if there was some other Paxton we might be talking about. I grabbed a pillow and swiped it at her. She snatched it from me, hugged it, and cocked her head. One side of her mouth twitched up. “So how was it?”

  Suddenly it felt like old times, like we’d never been apart. Like she’d never told me to kneel in front of the whole school. I frowned and pulled away.

  “Anyway. It wasn’t Paxton who framed me.” I felt vulnerable. Should I have told Alina all of that stuff? “Your turn to share. What’s the deal with your parents?”

  She told me. Turns out Alina’s dad had been doing his secretary, and while the whole boat-fire scare distracted Mrs. Rose for a while, eventually she found out. Alina started crying again when she told me her dad was living in an apartment in San Francisco now. I handed her tissues, petted Piper, and just listened.

  Finally Alina’s tears stopped again. “That sucks,” I told her, genuinely sorry. I knew how much her parents meant to her, especially after her mom’s cancer scare back in middle school. Alina wiped her face.

  “So if Paxton didn’t frame you,” she said after a minute, “who did?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Do you have any leads?” she asked. I hesitated, my anger coming back, and Alina sighed. “Look, you don’t have to tell me. But I want to help.” Just then Alina’s cell phone rang, and she dashed to her dresser to pick it up. She checked the caller ID. “It’s my dad,” she said. “I should take this.”

  I gave Piper a last pat and stood.

  “I should go anyway.”

  “No! Stay, this will only take a minute, I swear.”

  I shook my head. “I’ve got to get Paxton’s car back to him. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Alina hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll pick you up?”

  “No thanks. Lindsay’s driving me.” Alina’s face fell, and I added, “We’ve got cheer stuff to talk about,” even though I could chat with Lindsay some other time. Maybe it felt sugar-rush good to be able to talk to Alina again, but I didn’t want to jump right back into being her best friend. “I’ll see you in homeroom,” I said, and left.

  Chapter 22

  The half-day on Wednesday was ... odd. When I showed up in homeroom, Alina gestured to my old seat beside her, which was empty. It was like now that we’d made up--mostly, anyway--she was determined to show me and everyone that we were best friends again.

  “I wouldn’t want to take Elizabeth’s seat,” I said.

  “She’s fine,” Alina said, though Elizabeth, two rows back now, practically had steam coming out of her ears.

  “I don’t think she is,” I said, and went to my desk at the back of the room.

  At lunch Alina tried again. This time I did sit next to her, but spent most of the half hour talking to Tiffany.

  Since it was a half day we didn’t have cheer practice, so after school I started making my way to the junior parking lot. Alina caught up to me halfway there.

  “Come on, Rose, it’s Jag time,” she said, gesturing towards her car.

  “Lindsay’s driving me,” I said. I tried to keep going, but Alina stepped in front of me.

  “Are you punishing me?” she said.

  I stared at her. “Maybe,” I admitted.

  “Will you please just yell at me instead of being all passive-aggressive?”

  “Maybe if everyone elbowed you in the halls for a week I’d feel better,” I snapped. Alina’s expression froze. Then she shrugged.

  “I said I was sorry, Rose. And I mean it. So whatever you need to say to punish me, fine.”

  I threw up my hands. “Look, it’s not only about the past few weeks. It’s ... I can’t just ignore stuff anymore.” Alina had apologized, but even if I forgave her for treating me like dirt, what about how she treated everyone else?

  “Like what?”

  “Like ... Elizabeth, for one. You’ve been best buds with her for weeks, and then this morning you just told her to move back two rows. Like it was nothing. Who does that to their friends?”

  The parking lot was filled with sounds of people laughing, joking, slamming car doors, but it all seemed far away.

  “You think I’m a shitty person,” Alina said finally, her voice flat.

  “Never mind.” I shook my head. “You don’t get what I’m saying.”

  “No, I think I do. You said it yesterday: I’m a
shitty person.”

  “I said shitty friend,” I corrected, though nitpicking here probably wasn’t the brightest idea. Before I could say anything else, Alina exploded.

  “Wow. Like you’re such a paragon? Look, I apologized. I’m sorry. I’ll say it a million times if you want me to. But if you’re just going to punish me forever, if you don’t want to be friends anymore, just say so.” I didn’t respond, and Alina’s voice rose. “Just say so!”

  People were staring at us now. “I do still want to be friends,” I told Alina. And she was right--avoiding her wasn’t the answer. “I’ll text Lindsay that you’re driving me home, okay?”

  By the time I finished typing, Alina seemed to have calmed down a little.

  “You know what I really want right now?” I said, putting my phone away. Alina looked at me warily. “Cookies.”

  Alina relaxed. “That, I can agree with.” We wound up going to a bakery and getting half a dozen different kinds to nibble while we sat on the hood of her Jag.

  “So are you going to let me help you clear your name?” Alina asked.

  I hesitated, but what was I going to do, say no? Alina was trying to show me she was sorry, and I wanted to give our friendship a chance. So I told her about Beverly’s Hater List, about Georgette, and how Francesca was really seeing Dane--Ryan had told Alina about that last Wednesday too, so she already knew--and what Juliette told me about Georgette’s fingerprint ramblings. “I think it’s probably Georgette who set the fire, but I’m not sure yet.”

  Alina’s gaze had narrowed, but before she could say anything my phone rang. It was my dad, so I answered. “He wants me home soon,” I told Alina when I hung up. “We’d better go.” We got in the Jag, and Alina pointed us towards my neighborhood.