Aunt Maddy kisses the side of my head. “Don’t you worry about that, baby. I’m the one protecting my heart. If David and I don’t work out, I’ll be okay. Even though I really, really want it to work out.”
“Do you think Kai and Tabitha will work out?”
Maddy shrugs. “I don’t know Tabitha. Do they seem into each other?”
“Kai does.”
“Then you’d better hope Tabitha reciprocates, or your best friend’s heart might get crushed.”
“He will be crushed,” I murmur. “She’s not a nice person.”
“Just support Kai while he’s with her. He’s not blind. If she’s bad news, he’ll see it.”
“But she’s always been bad news,” I counter. “Her friends were picking on me before they got together.”
Maddy stiffens. “Which friends?”
I frown, tasting something sour. “She’s friends with Camila Garcia. Ugh. You wouldn’t believe what she did today.”
“Tell me.”
I wipe my eyes, frustrated. “She found an old picture of Mom when she was posing in that club. She wanted to show everyone at school.”
“What!” Maddy screeches. “Why on earth would she do that? And why did she have it?”
I groan, shaking it off. “I don’t know. She’s just a tormentor. And, for some reason, Kai thinks it’s fine to date someone who hangs out with her.”
“Did Tabitha help spread the picture?”
I shake my head. “No. I only heard Camila and Yvette talking about it.”
“Okay, so maybe give Tabitha the benefit of the doubt.”
I give her a skeptical look.
Aunt Maddy sighs. “Just ask Kai why he’s into her. She might not be as bad as the others. There has to be a reason he’s into her. Maybe you’ll find out you also have things in common with her.”
“Ick.” I grimace. “I sure hope not.”
“Me too. No one can turn what Lily did into something heinous. She went to that club to provide for us.”
I nod, eyeing the diary. “She was amazing.”
Maddy smiles, sitting back against the pillows and chucking popcorn into her mouth.
I sigh, scooping a handful of popcorn from the bowl. There’s no way Tabitha is magically better than her friends. Why must all the people in my life pick such horrible people to date?
Eight
Thenextday,duringsecond period math, Mr. Pritchard goes through our homework by showing the solutions on the blackboard. He has us swap with a student beside us and mark their work in a red pen. John Hughes always gets the right answer. However, this time I can tell he messed up some of his working out. I remember how to solve these equations because Milo went over them several times, breaking down each step until it finally clicked in my brain. John Hughes’s work isn’t correct, but his answer is.
I suck in a breath, and my shoulders are tense. He’s cheating.
I’ve never paid attention to Mr. Pritchard’s explanations before, and I’ve spent all semester just checking or check-minusing John’s work, depending on the final answer. I tap the red pen against my lips, figuring out if I should go along as per normal, or if I should alert Mr. Pritchard to John’s lackluster effort. I make check marks against John’s work. I don’t want to ruffle feathers, and I also don’t know if my work is up to scratch yet. I can’t one-eighty my life in a day and suddenly become a tattletale.
When John and I switch papers, I smile at the check marks. The first three sets I knew would be correct because Milo walked me through them. The final three he left me to do on my own without his help. Two were incorrect.Nothing shocking there. But one was correct! Whoa. How in the world did I pull that off? Wow. I’ve learned something.
Mr. Pritchard sets out our work for class. I half pay attention. I can’t help the fact he still drones on. At least Milo changes the lilt in his voice when he’s explaining stuff. When he leaves the blackboard after explaining today’s lesson, Mr. Pritchard strolls around the classroom desks. I glance at the extra work he gave me yesterday. Milo said, I’m on the right track, but I guess I should get my teacher’s opinion, too. Maybe he’ll be so impressed that he’ll say I don’t need to do the rest of the extra study.
