“No. Of course not. Everyone loves you. What are you talking about?”
She gulped and blinked her eyes. “They won’t love me if you say it’s my fault your dad won’t donate anymore, and then everybody has to go door-to-door hawking raffle tickets.”
She thought I’d been threatening her. I’d just been trying to defend myself. “I’m not going to do that. I was just offering it as an example of ...”
Instead of receding, the tears brimmed over her lashes and trailed down her cheeks. This was no good. She hadn’t stopped crying, and presenting my case logically wasn’t helping. I did the only thing I could think of: I reached over and hugged her. “I’m sorry, Claire, really.”
She went silent and stiffened. She probably wasn’t a hugger, and I’d just violated her personal space.
I released her—and noticed a smear of blue paint on her shirt. I’d thought all of the paint on my shirt was dry, but I’d managed to transfer some to Claire.
“Oh no,” I said. “Your shirt. You need to rinse that out so itdoesn’t stain.” I grabbed my water bottle, then remembered I’d poured the rest on Cooper’s head. “Do you have water?”
She stared bleakly at the spot on her shirt. “No.”
“Run to the school bathroom,” I said.
She shook her head. “Then I’d have to explain to the front office why I was doing Cooper’s job. I don’t want to get him in trouble.”
I hadn’t felt bad about the way I’d ruined Cooper’s clothes, but I felt awful for getting paint on Claire’s. I’d been trying to comfort her, and I’d made things worse. “I’ll pay for the shirt. How much did it cost?”
She wiped at the spot, smearing it even more. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do. I stained it. It’s my responsibility to pay for it.” I pulled out my phone. “I’ll send you some money.”
“You don’t have to,” she repeated.
People always said that, but they didn’t really mean it. I was already opening my wallet app. “Is a hundred dollars enough?”
Her jaw dropped. “A hundred dollars? Where do you shop?”
“Not enough?” My eyes went over her shirt again, a light green V-neck. “I can’t tell if it’s designer or not.”
“A surefire way to tell,” she said slowly, “is that if I’m wearing it, it’s not a designer label.”
She didn’t say more. My phone was still clutched in my hand. “So then, what did it cost? Fifty dollars?”
Instead of answering, she lay down on the grass by the sidewalk and put her hand over her eyes like she’d been struck by a sudden migraine.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, I just need to lie here for a moment while I contemplate what it must be like to be you.”
How was I supposed to reply to that? “Um, right now, it’s a bit confusing. What do I owe you for the shirt?”
She took her hand off her eyes and flopped it onto the ground in frustration. “The shirt is a hand-me-down from my mother.”
“So you’re saying it has sentimental value?” That made this even worse.
She sat up. Despite not looking a lot like her brother, the incredulous gaze she sent me was identical to the one he used. “No, I’m saying that my shirt has a resale value of about three dollars, and I have more pride than to take that from you.”
“Oh.” Still, I wanted to make things right with her. “In that case, maybe I could just give you one of my shirts in exchange.”
She didn’t seem to hear me. “You have no idea what things cost in the regular world, do you? A hundred dollars for a T-shirt? If Cooper saw that transaction on my phone, he’d think you ordered a hit on him, and I’d accepted.”
I picked up my paintbrush. “I do know what things cost in the real world. For example, I know that a decent hitman costs a lot more than one hundred dollars.”
She gave me a horrified look, so I added, “I’m just joking. You should know that already since we’ve been in drama together for three years.” I took a deep, fortifying breath to put an end to the runaway train this conversation had become. “Honestly, what does everyone say about me when I’m not there?”
