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you’re more likely to be a page or something, but it won’t be because you’re a girl.”
    This is what I’ve been listening for but not wanting to hear—that I’m too late to the party and don’t even have a chance at a good part.
    â€œI know what I want,” I say, closing the book. “If you’re done, we can go.”
    â€œYeah, I’m ready,” Mandy says. She tosses the CliffsNotes, grabs a copy of the special edition, and tucks it under her arm like she planned to buy it all along.
    â€œSure that’s not going to hurt your brain?” Drew asks when he sees Mandy’s book, and I bristle. Mandy might not be a scholar , but that’s choice, not a lack of intelligence.
    Mandy smiles at me. “Caddie thinks it’s good.”
    She links her arm through mine, pulling me close. Her hand slides down close to mine, and I gasp, jerk away.
    â€œWhoa,” says Mandy, like I’m a horse, “easy, girl.”
    My heart wants a breath for every beat—so much air—but I won’t let it trick me. I make my voice gentle, no stress. “I don’t like anyone to touch me lately.” The best lies have a little truth in them. “It’s weird, but I lay out in the sun the other day . . .”
    Mandy knows my pasty skin never tans.
    â€œIt was dumb, but I thought with school starting . . .” I let her see me embarrassed. Making it part of the act takes its power away. “I got sun poisoning.” Her eyes dart to my super-pale hands. “I mean, I wasn’t even out long enough to burn, but I got these red bumps. That’s why the long sleeves. So gross. And it still hurts.”
    â€œYowch,” Mandy says, happy to keep her distance now that we’re talking about skin bumps. “You’ve got to take care of yourself, girl.”
    I nod. No kidding.
    Mandy decides our next stop should be Ragamuffin, a consignment shop in Southside where we can get rehearsal clothes on the cheap. Drew speeds through the Red Mountain Expressway Cut, the rust-red corridor that was blasted from the mountain, and there’s Vulcan, the Roman god of the forge. If a pagan can be a patron saint, he’s Birmingham’s. He’s the largest cast iron statue in the world, and he towers over his anvil wearing only an apron so his naked butt moons Homewood.
    As he drives, Drew shifts his hand back and forth between Mandy’s thigh and the gearshift. They touch so easily.
    â€œPeter says hi,” Mandy says.
    â€œWhat?” My voice cracks.
    Mandy’s fiddling with her phone. “I texted that we were out shopping. He says hi.”
    â€œHe’s the one who messed with your car, right?” I try to sound nonchalant.
    â€œRi-ight,” Mandy says, eyeing me with suspicion, and I immediately realize how stupidly fake I must sound. Mandy watched me meet Peter yesterday, and it’s not like I met a billion other people.
    â€œYou heard about the Great Car Caper,” Drew says, laughing.
    Mandy twists around to stare at me. “You like him,” she crows. “You! Like! Peter!”
    I shift my eyes toward Drew— Hello, male in the car. In the rearview, his eyes are amused.
    â€œI don’t like him. I mean, I don’t dis like him. I don’t even know—”
    â€œLies! You like him. Now talk. How can you be attracted to Peter?” asks Mandy.
    â€œI never said I was.”
    â€œBut you are ,” Mandy says. “That’s clear.”
    I sink deeper into my seat.
    â€œHe’s tall,” she says. “I’ll give you that. He’s got a certain boyish charm.”
    Drew clears his throat.
    â€œI’m just trying to empathize,” Mandy says. “Please. I could never go for someone so—what’s the word I’m looking for? Cocky?”
    â€œPeter’s not cocky. Peter’s a nerd,” Drew says.
    â€œI know! Where does he get