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prison. My brother will pay for putting me here. And Gaia will soon be mine
.
    This time forever.

rock-and-roll lightning
    it was whatever came in a close second to fear: some nerve-splaying, bone-charging kind of anticipation that felt crazy and sane all at the same time.
    â€œSO I’M, LIKE, THINKING THIS place will give me the killer haircut of my life.” Megan Stein moaned as Heather and her friends stepped into the lunch line. “But I go home looking like a hair commercial, and I wake up looking like a blond Ronald McDonald.” Megan glanced behind her, her eyes wide in a very obvious plea for a pat on the back.
    Potential Pouffing-Out Factor
    â€œYou
so
do
not
look like a blond Ronald McDonald,” Tina Lynch soothed, right on cue. “You so do not.”
    â€œHeather, what do you think?” Megan whined, her hand flying up again to smooth down (and show off) her newly and expensively coifed hair. “I am
so
completely dying over this cut!”
    What a tragedy,
Heather thought, keeping her sarcasm silent. She knew the deal. Oh, yes. Now she had to compliment Megan. She had to tell Megan that not only did she
not
resemble the blond Ronald McDonald, not even faintly; moreover, she looked incredible. Like a supermodel. The sad thing was, the old Heather would have no problem with this.
This ritual of fishing for compliments, this routine of affirmation, was so tightly woven into the fabric of their lives that none ofthem even noticed it anymore.
Every single one of her friends, especially Megan, always turned to her, Heather, for a pat on the back.
    But Heather had bigger things to worry about than the potential pouffing-out factor of Megan’s new hairdo. She could only mumble the faintest grunt of a wishy-washy “you-look-great” before picking out a chicken sandwich. She bit her lip, momentarily tasting her Kiehl’s peppermint lip balm. Which, come to think of it, was yet another thing she’d have to ration. Because she could no longer afford even that most minor of luxuries.
    â€œI look so fat with this cut.” Megan groaned, apparently not picking up on Heather’s lack of enthusiasm—or maybe trying desperately to get Heather to commiserate. “Can someone please tell me why this cafeteria insists on supplying us with only the most fattening foods?”
    â€œSo disgusting,” Tina agreed, averting her eyes from a dish of mashed potatoes. “I mean, look at all that starch! Clearly they cater only to the Amazonians of this world, like Gaia Moore. Or else to the bulimics.”
    All the girls sniggered together.
    Except Heather. She was horrified. The pit of her stomach hardened. Jokes about bulimics weren’t exactly a laugh a minute right now. Not since her sister, Phoebe, had been hospitalized forfull-fledged anorexia and was evidently not getting any better—even though Heather’s unemployed father had bankrupted the Gannis family on the most expensive care Manhattan could offer. Heather turned to her friends, hurt clouding her eyes. And then she remembered why they were being so insensitive. They had no idea about Phoebe. Or her parents’ bankruptcy. Or anything else that mattered to her.
    Only Ed knew. And only Ed cared.
    Scanning over the top of Megan’s perfectly shagged new head, Heather searched the cafeteria for Ed. Yes, they were going through a rough patch, but Heather needed to be with him right now. She needed to feel like she actually existed as a human being, not just a style barometer.
At least fighting reminds you that you’re human,
she thought wistfully, recalling the recent misunderstandings and tensions. But maybe this time, at lunch, she and Ed could just talk, be together. They could just eat the god-damned starchy mashed potatoes—
    That was when she spotted him. At the far corner table. With Gaia.
    Instantly Heather’s heart squeezed. Her blood felt like it was turning to ice. What the