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she talked to you?” she asks.
    â€œNo, I think she’s pretty upset about how things went down last night.”
    Ruthann lets go of my arm and waves her hand around like she’s preparing to fence with me without using a sword.
    â€œHer round-offs suck. And so do her toe touches. It’s my job to tell her that.”
    I take another drink of water and look out at the basketball court. Some of the girls are gathering at our starting positions.
    â€œBut I think you hurt her feelings,” I say. Even in Joy’s absence, I want to prove to her that I’m not a fake person.
    â€œAm I just supposed to stand back and let her suck?
Great strategy, Molly. I bet the judges will love to see one
member sucking so badly. Maybe we could get a trophy
for that. Do they give a trophy for almost-first-place-except-
you-had-a-member-who-sucked?”
    Ruthann needs to get a life. Or keep this life and begin seeking out a career in improving people’s flexibility by making them feel like utter crap.
    â€œWhy are you looking at me like that?” Ruthann asks.
    I shrug. “I should probably take my spot.” I watch as Deidre trips and almost falls. And then I hear myself asking a question that I thought I was only thinking. “You’re going to give me Deidre’s triangle point, right? You’re just waiting until the last minute? Making me sweat it out?”
    Ruthann snorts. “Is that all you care about? What about the fact that I’m losing a paycheck every week now?”
    â€œI care,” I say. “But there’s really nothing I can do.”
    â€œOf course there is,” Ruthann says. “Either you or Joy need to talk to Tate and tell him it was a big misunderstanding. Preferably, both of you should. Okay?”
    â€œCan we discuss this later?” I ask.
    â€œAbsolutely,” Ruthann says. “I’ll drive you home after school.”
    I return to my spot, walking across the cushioned gymnastics mats. My stomach feels knotted.
    â€œAre you sick?” Deidre asks me.
    I shake my head. And the world moves double-time.
    â€œYou look pale,” Deidre says.
    â€œI don’t tan well,” I say.
    â€œI’m not joking,” Deidre says. “I think you need fresh air.”
    â€œYeah,” I say. “The room is so hot.”
    â€œIt’s regular temperature,” Deidre says. “I think there’s something wrong with you.”
    â€œNo,” I say.
    I am now looking at two Deidres. And I feel like I might throw up. I don’t want to vomit on the court. Then I’ll be the day’s gossip. I run into the hallway and slam open the bathroom door. I barely make it to the trash can before I hurl up my banana. I always sort of knew that one day Ruthann Culpepper would make me puke.
    While my head is still inserted in the trash can, a toilet flushes and Sadie exits one of the stalls. She glances at me. I haven’t seen Sadie, I mean, really seen her, in weeks. Her hair is down, and she’s wearing a plain gray T-shirt. No jewelry. Sadie hardly ever wears jewelry. When it comes to fashion, she’s just so mellow.
    â€œAre you okay?” she asks.
    I don’t really know what to say. I know she’s only talking to me because she feels like she’s supposed to, not because she actually wants to have a conversation with me.
    â€œI’m puking,” I say.
    â€œI can see that,” Sadie says. “Do you need any help?”
    I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
    â€œIt’s basically a one-woman job,” I say.
    â€œI’m trying to be nice to you,” Sadie says. “Is dance team practice too intense?”
    I’m not on the dance team. I’m on the drill team. And she’s aware of that. Our dance team carries weird streamers, wears unitards, and are mocked relentlessly. I know, because Sadie and I used to mock them.
    â€œI’m actually on the drill team and