“She was going to meet him in her bedroom?” Haley asks. “What, for like a hookup?”
I glare daggers at Haley, but she just sits there looking eager.
Kirsten’s face reddens. She turns toward the mirror. “I guess.”
Haley’s phone goes off, thank God, and she’s immediately engrossed with texts from Yuji.
I get up, joining Kirsten at the dresser. She doesn’t seem upset, but it’s hard to tell sometimes. She’s studying the pictures jammed around the edges of Aisha’s mirror. I recognize one of me, Aisha, Gretchen, and Haley all grinning with our arms around one another. I pluck it carefully from the glass.
Kirsten peers over my shoulder. “Wasn’t that the trip you broke your arm?”
I frown. I guess I wanted to forget that part. The photo was taken just before we set off on the ninth-grade camping trip up the Black River. It was a weeklong expedition of hiking, mosquitoes, and misery, crowned by a final day of trail riding through the woods. That was how it happened. “It was a stupid accident.”
Kirsten lingers over the picture. “Tornado, right?”
I tilt my head. “Yeah, how did you know?”
I had been assigned a sweet mare named Peaches, but Gretchen asked if I would switch with her at the last second. She’d been given a gray stallion by the name of Tornado. I said no at first. Gretchen had taken riding lessons and I hadn’t. Peaches seemed like a safer bet. But as usual, she ended up getting her way. As it turned out, Tornado was very tame. We even joked about him being unfairly labeled. But just as we were packing up after lunch, Gretchen shook out a plastic grocery bag to gather trash and Tornado spooked. My arm happened to be tangled in the reins at that moment and he dragged me a terrifying quarter mile before someone caught up to us and calmed him.
“Gretchen told me,” Kirsten says. “He used to be mine, you know—until she decided to ride him once and he threw her. It was her own fault, but Dad donated him to the trail-riding program. She felt so bad you got hurt. I remember she must’ve brought you ice cream for like a week.”
My stomach turns to stone. I wait for her to shake her head or blink—make some indication that she’s messing with me. That it wasn’t actually a horse Gretchen knew. But she just places the picture carefully back on the mirror while I fight the lump rising in my throat.
“They euthanized him afterward. Gretchen insisted.” Her eyes are steady, but sad when she looks at me. “You did know about that, right?”
I cover my mouth and whisper, “I’m so sorry,” but the words might’ve been too soft for her to hear. The door opens and I’m vaguely aware of Kirsten and Haley turning their heads, of Aisha standing there. But all I can think about is that strong, beautiful horse running away scared. And that it wasn’t an accident like I’ve always tried to tell myself. Gretchen knew what would happen when she shook that bag.
“No,” Haley says.
Kirsten murmurs, “Maybe not . . .”
“Seriously? That bad?” Aisha asks. “Sonia?”
I wipe the corners of my eyes, trying to pull myself out of the past. I look at Aisha’s bright pink and purple polka-dot gown, but my brain is going in too many different directions for honest opinions. “Let’s see some of the others before we decide.”
An hour or so, and some half-dozen fuchsia, black, and champagne gowns later, the four of us finally settle on a classic cocktail dress in red satin. It hugs Aisha’s graceful curves, sets off the dark tone of her skin, and makes her look “completely bangable,” as Haley so delicately put it. Aisha just seems relieved we’re all in agreement.
Kirsten’s phone chimes on the bed and she jumps up, looking flustered. “Oh. I forgot I need to help my mom with something tonight. The dress is beautiful, Aisha.”
“Yeah, tell your boyfriend he’s welcome,” Haley says, joining Kirsten as she heads for the door. “You want a ride home, Sonia? I need to run too—meeting Yuji.”
Aisha frowns. “I was hoping everybody could stay. There’s a Slyvana Hart marathon . . . we could order pizza?”
I glance at Kirsten lingering halfway out the door. I feel like there’s something more I should’ve said to her, but I’m not sure what. I feel awful about her horse, and even more conflicted about Gretchen. But I don’t understand why she would bring that up now.
“Can I catch a ride home later?” I’ve never been excited about Aisha’s foreign-exchange-student-super-spy-detective show, but I could use a good distraction. If I go home now, I’ll climb the walls thinking about Alex Burke, Gretchen, and Penn.
Aisha grins. “Of course.”
It’s still early, but we order pizza and wander down to the kitchen to wait for the delivery. Tyrone is watching basketball in the den with the sound cranked so high I can feel the game through the floor. Otherwise the house seems deserted.