Sylvia set down her box and put her hands on her lower back. "It's only been since Monday that we haven't talked," she said. "Seriously, this feels like you're going all Single White Female on me."

"It just seems like a lot, when we used to talk every day," I said, suddenly feeling small and stupid. Was I imagining things? Surely not, with Beth Daniels inside Sylvia's house, where I could bet she was peeking out the windows.

"There's just some stuff going down right now," Sylvia said, looking off toward a neighbor's house. "I can't tell you about it."

"What?" I asked. "We tell each other everything. What's different this time?"

Sylvia shifted her gaze from the house to me. "It's kind of complicated right now. It might be a bad time for us to hang out, if you know what I mean."

"No," I said. "I don't know what you mean."

Sylvia glanced back at the house. The living room curtain twitched.

"Look, Ag," Sylvia said, taking a deep breath, "I've never, ever given a s.h.i.t about who your mom is. You know that. But right now, it's probably not the best time for me to be hanging out with the princ.i.p.al's kid. I just need a little s.p.a.ce. That's all I'm going to say."

My mom. I was back to being the princ.i.p.al's b.i.t.c.h, only this time, somehow, it was in relation to Sylvia. The ache in my chest started to throb. "So, what? We're not friends anymore? Because of my mom?"

Sylvia's voice was suddenly hard. "Because of a lot of things."

"What other things?"

"Well, some of the stuff you said about Ryan, for starters."

"Ryan? What'd I ever say about him?"

"That he won't stick around for me."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You're mad at me because I was honest about what I thought of him?"

Sylvia put her hands on her hips but didn't say anything.

"Okay, come on. Seriously? This is stupid."

"Oh, so you think it's stupid that I'm having his kid? Do you think it's stupid that maybe I'm freaking out a little? I mean, I'm going to be raising a person that's half him. And you want to go dissing him at every turn."

"No, it's not that. It's just-"

"Forget it," Sylvia interrupted. "You wouldn't understand." She picked up her box and started walking toward the house. "Just-let's talk when prom is over." But she didn't even look at me when she said it. She just stepped into the house and closed the door behind her.

I stood in the driveway, dazed, for at least ten seconds before my brain kicked in. Sylvia had dumped me. We weren't friends anymore. I took a deep breath and was summoning the energy to make my way back to the car when I spotted an orange piece of paper on the ground. I bent over and picked it up.

It was rectangular, with a couple boring straight lines on it. There was no writing, no date, no nothing. I had no idea what it was.

A breeze whipped up and rattled the branches overhead. I dropped the paper, which tumbled away, and walked to the car. The engine roared and the tires squealed when I took off down the street. I waited until I was at least a mile away before I started bawling like a stupid baby.

Chapter Seventeen.

SAt.u.r.dAY, APRIL 18 / 10:25 A.M.

Sat.u.r.day morning, bright sunlight streamed into my room, forcing me awake. After peeing and brushing my teeth, I tried not to stare too long at my reflection in the mirror. I hated how I looked without makeup.

When I got downstairs to the kitchen, I stopped. My plans to drown all my feelings about Sylvia in a tower of frozen waffles and at least a gallon of maple syrup were zeroed out at the sight of my mom. She was standing at the counter making pancakes from scratch. She looked up when she heard me. "Good morning," she said. She was still wearing her pajamas. I glanced at the clock. It was ten thirty.

"Mom, are you okay?" I asked. My mom was never in her pajamas past seven. Ever.

She flicked a couple drops of water onto the griddle. They hissed and danced. "Never better. Why?"

I grabbed a mug and poured myself some coffee. "Just, you know. It's not really like you to still be in your pajamas." Making pancakes. And not working.

My mom ladled her pancake batter into perfect circles on the griddle. "I decided to sleep in. When I got up, I wanted pancakes. I figured you'd eat a few."

My stomach rumbled. "Sure. Where's Dad?"

"He left to get the oil changed in the car and run some errands. It's just you and me."

I couldn't remember the last time my mom and I had been alone in the house together-and in the same room. It actually wasn't half bad standing in the kitchen with her, both of us still in our pajamas.

"Sense and Sensibility is on," my mom said, placing the first batch of fresh pancakes onto a plate. "I'm recording it on the DVR. You want to watch it with me?"

I wrapped my hands around my mug. "I don't think so. I hate that British love c.r.a.p."

"I know. But this version with Kate Winslet is so wonderful."

I hesitated. "It's just not my kind of thing."

My mom stacked more pancakes onto the plate. My stomach rumbled so loudly, I figured Al heard it down at the hardware store.

"Give the movie ten minutes," my mom said. "We'll start it while you eat. If you hate it, you walk away when you're finished with breakfast. Deal?"

I stared at the pancakes. "Deal."

An hour later, my mom hit pause on the movie so we could take a bathroom break. I'd made it all the way to the part of the movie where Kate Winslet's character is in London, sending note after note to Willoughby. She refuses to let herself admit he's not replying.

"I feel so bad for her," my mom said, standing and stretching. "She's so in love."

"She needs that book He's Just Not That Into You," I said.

My mom laughed. "Hurry up and do your thing so we can get back to watching."

When I came back from the bathroom, my mom had cleared the breakfast plates and had two bowls of ice cream out.

"Ice cream?" I asked. "Before noon? Are you kidding?"

I was starting to question whether or not my mom was on some seriously trippy cancer drugs.

"This is fun," my mom said. "I just want to make the most of it."

I sat next to her and dug into the ice cream. "So did you ever pine for Dad the way Marianne pines for Willoughby?"

My mom smiled. "Not even close. It was the other way around, really."

"Yeah?" I'd never heard much dirt on my mom and dad's premarriage relationship.

"Yes. You know your dad showed up on my doorstep day after day, juggling?"

My spoon clanked against my bowl. "Juggling? For real?"

My mom nodded. "Cross my heart. He was in my advanced economics cla.s.s and asked me on a date. I said no. So then he said he was going to show up on my porch every night juggling until I said yes."

"Oh my G.o.d," I said. "How long did you make him juggle?"

My mom wouldn't look at me. "Thirty days."

Ice cream nearly went up my nose. "Thirty days? Are you kidding? That's so long!"

"I know! It's terrible, isn't it? But I married him. And we had you. So it all worked out."

Well. It was nice of her to say that. My mom reached out to tuck some of my hair behind my ear. "You're such a lovely girl," she said. "I bet you'd have lots of dates, too, if you'd just-" She seemed to catch herself.

I pulled my head back. "What?"

"Nothing," my mom said. "You want to get back to the movie?"

"No," I said. "Tell me. I'd have lots of dates, if I just what?"

My mom took a breath. "I was just thinking you look so nice now without all that makeup on. That's all. And your skin would glow if you wore brighter clothes."

My mom couldn't go five minutes without criticizing me. My temper flared. "I thought you were worried about me banging every boy in the junior cla.s.s. More dates would add to that, wouldn't it? I mean, since I'm such a s.l.u.t anyway."

"Aggie," my mom said, her voice switching instantly to princ.i.p.al-speak, "that's not what I meant. I'm trying to help you. But you're always pushing me away."

"You're not trying to help me," I said. "You're trying to help yourself."

My mom set her ice cream bowl down so hard I thought it would break. "If I only cared about myself, I'd let you run around looking like one of Satan's minions and not ever say a word. But, Aggie, be logical. I know this isn't you. The reasons you have for being tough and Goth-they aren't valid."

I clenched my hands so I wouldn't reach out and throw something against the wall. "Oh, and what reasons would those be?" I asked. "Please. Enlighten me."

My mom stared at me for a second. "This is clearly a protection strategy. It's also a way to rebel."

Her words went deeper than I wanted them to. "Good thing you got a PhD so you could figure that out," I said. "You think the school will give you an award for being princ.i.p.al and mom of the year?"

My mom didn't even flinch. "Ultimately this strategy will fail you, Aggie. It's disingenuous to who you really are, and if you're using it to protect yourself from being hurt, it won't work. That much I know."

A wave of pain crashed over me unexpectedly. I fought to keep it from sweeping me away. My mom was right. Since going Goth, I had been hurt-but not by the people I thought could crush me, like Tiffany Holland. Instead, I'd been hurt by the people I loved and trusted. First Neil, now Sylvia.

I looked at my mom and wished I could tell her about Sylvia dumping me. She had been my rock. She was the person who always knew what to do next. Where did I go without her?

"I know how you feel," my mom said. "I understand what you're going through. It's not uncommon for young women your age."

In the s.p.a.ce of a second, I was back to being something out of a textbook.

"Don't fool yourself," I snapped. "You think you know me because you studied kids in college or whatever, but I'm not a theory. I'm a person. And you have no clue what's going on with me. So don't even pretend."

I stood up and headed to my room. I thought my mom would try to stop me, but she didn't. She just stayed there on the couch looking small and wounded. I told myself to be happy I'd rattled her. I told myself I'd won. Except I didn't feel very victorious when I closed my door and threw myself down on the bed.

Chapter Eighteen.

MONDAY, APRIL 20 / 6:48 A.M.

Monday morning, I rolled out of bed and groaned. I dragged myself to the shower and let the hot water run until my skin turned pink and wrinkled.

"Ag, don't be late!" my dad called as I dried off. I rolled my eyes. Not only would I be late, but there was a good chance I might not go to school altogether. I didn't want to see Sylvia. I sure as h.e.l.l didn't want to see Beth. And I didn't want to face the prom madness that would be inflaming the halls, since today was the day we'd finally vote for the king and queen.

I put on my makeup slowly, taking my time. You have to go, I told myself as I applied lipstick the color of dead leaves. If Sylvia wasn't the one who hated you and this was someone else, she'd tell you to get your a.s.s to school and act like nothing was the matter. The minute you don't show up, you show weakness.

G.o.d, she wasn't even my friend anymore and I could still hear her in my head. I wondered if the sound of her voice would fade the longer we were apart. And then, if I didn't hear Sylvia's voice, whose would I hear? I could hear my own, I thought, as I pulled on a black T-shirt. Except for the fact that I wasn't sure what that sounded like.

I was throwing the last of my stuff together when I saw my cell phone blinking. I grabbed it and looked at the list of missed texts. There were twenty of them.

Almost all of them were for the prom, telling me who to vote for. RYAN IZ THE BEST MAKE HIM KNG!!! Or MARISSA MENDEZ DSRVS THE CROWN!! Ryan, Marissa, Tiffany, Ty-it was spam from all the usual suspects. I was going through the messages, deleting them one by one, until I saw a different cl.u.s.ter of texts.

ST. DAVIS CHESS CLUB IS BEHIND SYLVIA NESS! CHANGE WE CAN BLEVE IN!.

A few messages down was another.

GIVE SYLVIA A CHANCE! SHAKE IT UP FOR THIS YRS PROM!.

I sat down on the edge of my bed. Sylvia had significant prom support at school. The groundswell was real. "Well, strap on a keg and call me a Saint Bernard," I said, borrowing a phrase my Grandma Lou Belle used to use. I stood up and grabbed my bag. There was no way I was going to miss school now.

I was almost out the door when my phone rang. I half expected it to be Sylvia, since this was around the time we'd text or call each other most days. Instead, I looked at the caller ID and froze. It was Neil.

I snapped open the phone. "What?" I hoped I sounded tough, even though I could swear my heart was melting.

"I need to talk to you. I've been texting and e-mailing. Why didn't you get back to me?"

"Get back to you about what?" I asked, my voice cold. "What could you possibly have to say that I want to hear?"