“Tickle you more,” I threaten, holding the nail polish brush like it’s a weapon. “Tickle you on purpose. Tickle you like you’re a red fluffy creature who’s parent company is litigious with IP and therefore can’t be named.”
She rolls her eyes, jerking her foot back when I give her a little taster, then returning it to its previous position with an extremely wary tilt to her eyes. “There might be someone,” she admits. “But given you stole the last man out from under me—”
“He was not under you. I definitely would remember that!”
“—I’m not telling you his name until I’m sure we’re an item.”
“For the record, I’d like to point out you didn’t tell me the name of the last man until far too late, and here we are.”
“But you’re with Seb now, so—”
“I’m not!” I wield the nail polish brush with as much menace as possible. “Who told you that?”
She rolls her eyes so long and hard that I’m concerned about brain damage from the toxic fumes. I carefully apply a seventh star to her left big toe, bringing to an end any remote possibility that nationality could be assigned in error.
Except now they kind of look like a circle. Who got together and decided that all Pacific nations should basically use the same flag?
“Seb and I barely count as acquaintances,” I counter before she can launch her rebuttal. “For the past few weeks, we’ve scarcely talked let alone anything else. We haven’t so much as kissed.”
“Like I don’t hear you doing the nasty at night, Miss Buzzy. You’re not calling out names for my benefit.”
A blush steadily crawls up my cheekbones. “Whoever designed those rooms needs to spend eternity in a cramped box with a fledgling rock guitarist on the other side of the walls.”
“You won’t get an argument from me.” She frowns in confusion. “Which of my large variety of valid points was I in the middle of making?”
“You’re meant to be enlightening me to the finer points of Bulibasha.” I give her the side eye. “Or you can just say you didn’t read it.”
“I read it, cross my heart. Just, I’ve read it for the sake of the story and kind of forgot to make notes along the way. Why haven’t you read it? That’s a better question.”
“Because I got distracted by tumescent monsters—”
“Who are not part of the English curriculum, lady.” She jerks her foot again and I clamp it harder to hold it steady, triggering a fit of writhing giggles. “Stop.”
“Slut,” a girl calls out as she walks by.
Rowena and I stare at each other, wide-eyed for a moment, then I confidently assert, “She means you.”
Bekka is sitting a few seats away, and she sends me a glance so cautious it makes my insides curl up like a roly-poly.
“What is it?” I ask, not wanting to but also not wanting to be in the dark.
Rowena straightens, all traces of laughter gone as she points a finger at the girl who’s far more her friend than mine. “Yeah. Spill the beans and don’t leave any in the can.”
“There’s a video,” Bekka whispers looking like she’d rather be anywhere else. She flicks her finger across the screen of her phone a few times, then walks across to pass it to Rowena. “Here.”
“Fuck that,” I say, grabbing it from her. Dread curdles my stomach until I feel regret for overeating at dinner. The first thing I see is my face, looming large in the camera. Staring straight at it.
The shock of seeing myself in close-up is so great I take a second to remember the owl. The cheap cutesy owl that I picked up from the mantelpiece at Tarryn’s party, then put back down.
Oh, God.
Oh, God no.
Somehow, it’s worse because I had the damn thingright in my handand still didn’t work out what it was. I watch myself standing at the window, staring into the back yard, then tensing like a statue as Seb enters the room.
I can’t see him. Not yet. But I’ve seen enough to know what comes after.
“Where did you get this?” I ask in a voice that’s barely audible. “Did Seb…?” But I can’t finish that question. The betrayal behind it is too large to put into words.
