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She tugged on the line to signal a stop. The bus chugged forward when the light turned green, and at the next block pulled over. She followed a small woman wearing white nursing shoes. Analise stepped onto the pavement, and she walked two blocks until reaching GoodYear Tires.

She pushed through the door, engulfed by the smell of car grease, and bypassed the reception area where Brenda was usually seated, and Analise herself worked ten hours a week. She went through another glass door into the garages. The echo of cranking drills and faint radio music muted her footsteps as she gravitated to a familiar and comforting picture—Ulla swallowed by a car. This time it was a black Toyota Forerunner. Analise was certain it was motor oil, not blood, that pumped through Ulla’s veins.

She set her backpack on the ground and displayed the roses.

Ulla escaped from the car’s hood and swiped a wrist across her misbehaving hairs. Her mouth quirked. “Are you in trouble?”

Analise couldn’t rein her grin. “I got asked to Homecoming today!”

“And now you can die happy.”

She rolled her eyes, though her smile remained. “I know you don’t care.”

“Who is he?” Wariness shadowed her gaze.

“Dave Laviolet.”

Ulla’s bright blue eyes lifted. She grabbed a rag and wiped her fingers. “Who’s Dave?”

“A soccer player.”

“Stay away from his balls.”

“Geez, can’t you hug me and say congratulations, or ‘I’m so happy for you,’ like a normal mother?”

“Congratulations for what? It’s not like you actually accomplished anything.”

Analise sighed audibly. “I’m going to need a new dress.”

“You already have three dresses.” Ulla held up the corresponding number of fingers and ticked them off. “The last two homecomings, which I don’t recall you being all that excited about anyway. And prom. Please help me understand why you need a new dress when you haven’t gotten fatter or taller.”

Analise regretted her eagerness. “Can I earn the money? I’ll ask Brenda for more hours.”

“You don’t need a new dress, Isa.”

“I doubt you even went to your Homecoming. You don’t get it,” Analise bemoaned.

Hurt passed over Ulla’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Analise said.

Ulla turned her attention to the car.

“Do you want me to start dinner?”

“No.” Her voice was distant. “You’re supposed to be resting away that concussion. I’ll bring something home.”

With the flowers limp in her hand, Analise took her backpack and began to walk away.

“And it’s not true,” Ulla said. “I did go to Homecoming. Once. My senior year.”

Analise turned and looked at her, but Ulla was back in the car’s jaws, a cue that the conversation was over. She retreated, confused, as if the confession were not an attempt to relate to Analise, but to warn her.

Dave Laviolet called Analise that night and asked her to come to watch the first home soccer game. She said, yes. He asked if she wanted to go to Conner Patterson’s party afterward. But Analise was expected to be home by midnight on weekends. One minute late was an entire day’s grounding. Did this mean if she went with Dave to the party, he’d drive her home? Analise’s stomach clenched. For all her inward pining to be popular, her cloak of invisibility had been safe, something she quietly and subconsciously wanted to maintain. Otherwise, they’d all see her for who she was: poor white trash who’d won the open-enrollment lottery, or worse, that her great-godmother had pulled strings to get her in. Maybe just this once, she’d ask Ulla if she could borrow the car, an ancient T-bird that Ulla doted on. It had a name, too: Tina.

No city bus dared to venture to Conner Patterson’s glass neighborhood with houses that would consume Analise’s entire block. Could she ask Missy for a ride?

Dave awaited her answer on the phone. “Are you still there?”