She is sitting outside on the steps at 3:30, waiting to talk to me. I want her to ask me how things are going, whether things are okay with my grandmother, but she doesn’t. “My mother is so freaking selfish,” she says. “I hate her.” I sit down on the steps beside her. “What’s going on?” “Michael. My mother. She just wants to do this honeymoon thing. I’m in the way.” She gives a humorless laugh. “I faked sick so I could stay home today. That really pissed her off.” “You actually look kind of sick. You’re really pale.” “Just tired. Can’t sleep. I was up all night and just napped a bit this morning. I feel like hell, if you really want to know.” Zelia looks at me and scowls. “I suppose you have to be home by four o’clock or something.” I can feel her anger flowing thick and hot beneath the surface of our friendship. She could turn on me in a flash. “Whatever,” I say. I flip my hair out of my eyes carelessly, a gesture I’ve picked up from her.
