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“And I feel at a disadvantage,” Ava added.
“You do?”
“Well, everyone else seems to know you already, and I’m new to Whitebridge and haven’t had the honor.”
“Ah,” Billie said.
Ava grinned. “By that I mean that I’d like to get to know you better. Maybe we could go for a drink? Or a coffee after school? With or without Hope, depending on whether or not the two of you were arch-enemies growing up.”
Billie snorted a laugh. “She wasn’t even in my class at school.”
“Ah, age, the great divider when it comes to childhood. Do you know, one of my upper infants the other day flat out refused to speak to her next door neighbor just because the poor child was in the lower infants? Childhood decisions are made on such a silly basis, aren’t they?”
Billie bit her lip and nodded.
“Alright then, I’ll let you go. If I don’t get back, the kids’ll be setting the place on fire. Think about that drink.”
“I will,” Billie said.
On the walk home she did think about the drink. Then she thought about all the things that Hope might tell Ava when she heard about her wife wanting to make friends with Billie Brooke and shuddered. She couldn’t imagine that Hope had anything nice to say about her. Or that most people did, to be honest.
And now she was feeling sorry for herself when, in truth, she had no one to blame but herself.
She slammed the front door behind her when she got home, irritated at herself and the world.
THE KNOCK CAME at precisely half past three and Billie caught herself checking her hair in the hallway mirror before she opened the door. She tutted at herself as she unlatched the door and then took a step back in shock.
“Oh dear,” she said. “You’d better come inside, come on.” She took Jules’s arm and propelled her through the front door. “Come, sit.”
Jules made for the piano bench, but Billie practically pushed her into the armchair.
“What do you need? Water? Who should I call?”
“Um, it’s a bit hot, I suppose water wouldn’t hurt,” Jules said, looking quite confused.
Billie rushed to the kitchen, pulling out the first glass she could find and, not even waiting for the tap to run freezing cold before she filled it up, carried it back to the living room.
“Here, now, are you sure I shouldn’t call someone?”
“Who would you call?” asked Jules, taking the water.
Billie felt herself blush. She wasn’t sure she was equipped to handle this. “Uh, I’m not sure. I, um, I don’t really know what the etiquette is here and I don’t know you well enough to know about your condition.”
“My condition?” Jules asked.
“Yes, well, you know.” Billie gestured up and down at Jules’s body. She cleared her throat a little. “I mean, I don’t know a lot about it, but it’s generally a sign of, um, kidney disease? Liver maybe?”
“What’s a sign of what?” asked Jules, sitting up a little straighter.
“Well, this,” said Billie, gesturing again. “Being… orange.”
Jules looked down at herself. “Yellow,” she said absently. “Yellow is the sign of jaundice, not orange.”
“Ah,” Billie said, trying to sound like she’d learned something. Biology had never been her thing. In fact, nothing other than music had really been her thing, she had only so much energy and only so many brain cells to spare. “So, orange is…”
Jules sighed. “Orange is a sign that my stupid sister and her stupid best friend didn’t pay as much attention at their stupid spray-tanning course as they should have.”
Billie stilled, frowning for a second until her brain caught up. “Wait, you chose to be this color?”
