“No,” Mary Bryan said, feigning shock. “Don’t tell me you’d break your fixation just for the sake of Pammy.”

“As I said, I highly doubt it will come to that.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “What fixation?”

“More like vendetta,” Mary Bryan said.

“Could we please not ruin the evening?” Keisha said.

“And did you hear?” Bitsy went on. “Stuart’s on probation from football, all because of some ridiculous complaint she made. Pompous slag.”

“Who?” I said, totally confused. “Pammy?” Then something clicked in my brain. Stuart, complaint, pompous slag … “Wait a minute. Are you talking about Camilla Jones? How Stuart harassed her that one day?”

“What do you know about it?” Bitsy asked.

I should have been warned by her tone. Instead, I was glad of the chance to contribute. “Well, not a lot,” I said, hoping to sound offhand. “But I was there, that’s all. And I went with Camilla to tell Mr. Van Housen.”

“So you ratted Stuart out?” Bitsy said.

My stomach dropped. I looked from face to face.

“Um … do you guys not like Camilla?” I asked. “Is there something I’m missing here?”

There was a pulse in the air. Mary Bryan’s eyes flew to Bitsy, and then she quick-laughed and said, “What? We like Camilla.”

“Except when she’s a right little prat,” Bitsy said. “Which is always.” To Mary Bryan she said, “You brought it up, so don’t act all innocent.”

“Hey, don’t put it on me!” Mary Bryan protested. “I have no problem with Camilla. I like her fine.”

Clearly, she didn’t. Clearly, none of them did. Which baffled me, given Camilla’s loner status. I was surprised they even knew who she was.

Then I thought about Camilla some more, how she was the one person who didn’t worship the Bitches like everyone else. Was that what this was about?

“Anyway, I didn’t rat Stuart out,” I said. “I just, you know, said that Camilla was telling the truth. That Stuart did what she said he did.”

Bitsy made a derisive noise. Mary Bryan ducked her head and fiddled with her hair. Keisha gazed at the rooftop, but as usual, she didn’t speak.

“Camilla was just standing there,” I explained. “He pinned her against a locker and …” I looked at each of them. “Come on, you guys. It was bad.”

Mary Bryan lifted her head. “It’s just … well, you were kind of right. Bitsy’s not really one of Camilla’s fans.”

I held out my hands, palms forward. “Neither am I, I swear!” I said. As the words spilled from my mouth, I realized they were true. Until this very moment I’d thought I liked Camilla. Sort of. I’d admired her, at any rate, for being true to herself in a dog-eat-dog world. Only now that admiration was gone, replaced with … ickiness.

Just like the ickiness I’d felt toward Alicia, that day in the cafeteria.

Oh, shit.

“Did one of you guys …” I started. “Bitsy, did you …”

Bitsy arched one eyebrow.

I decided I didn’t have a question after all. I had a heart-pounding feeling of having done something wrong, although I hadn’t, so I pushed forward with my story. “Anyway, Mr. Van Housen pretty much blew her off. He acted like she was a huge nuisance.”

“Yeah?” Mary Bryan said. She turned to Bitsy, like, Did you hear? Isn’t that great?

I tried to do better. “She was all whiney, like, ‘Wah, wah, wah, poor me.’ And Mr. Van Housen was all, ‘All right, girls. The matter will be taken care of appropriately.’”

“She’s a—what’d you call your friend the other day?” Bitsy said. “A toad. A slimy, bug-eyed toad.”

“I know,” I said. “I mean, if she would just … be less aloof or something. But she doesn’t even make the effort.”

Bitsy’s mouth twisted. “Everything she gets, she deserves.”

Mary Bryan stared at her fingernails.

“Next time stay out of her way, right?” Bitsy said.

I nodded. “Sure. Of course.”

“And if she gives you any problems, come to me. I’ll make sure she doesn’t bother you.”

“Leave it alone, Bitsy,” Keisha said.

“I’ll leave it alone when I want to leave it alone,” Bitsy shot back.

“Guys,” Mary Bryan pleaded.

“What, now you’re going to get on my back, too?”

“Just … stop. Okay? This is Jane’s night. We don’t want to spoil it with things that don’t even matter.”

Mary Bryan turned to me and smiled unconvincingly. “Did you have fun? Was it everything you thought it would be?”

“Um … yeah. It was awesome.”

“For real?” Mary Bryan said. “You’re not just saying that?”

I pushed Camilla from my mind, because despite it all, the glow from the night still remained. I wasn’t going to let her ruin it. “Well, I don’t want to sound stupid, but …”

“You won’t sound stupid.”

I blew out my breath. “It was just really nice, because I think everyone liked me. Even when I acted like an idiot.”

No one spoke. It was as if they were letting my words float down around them.

“Yeah,” Keisha said at last. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

Mary Bryan leaned against me. She rested her head on my shoulder.

“Well done, you,” Bitsy said, her venom gone. “Well done, our Jane.”

I dreamed about second grade, when Mom signed me up to be a Junior Bird Girl. We made thumbprint owls and microwaved s’mores. On the last day, to symbolize flying from the nest, we were blindfolded one by one and led into a circle of fellow Bird Girls. I folded my arms over my chest as I was passed from girl to girl, feeling their small hands on my shoulders and back. First they whispered bad things about me: You’re too skinny. You smile too much. You suck at math. Then came the good things: I like your barrettes. You’re kind to animals. Your hair is so soft. I remembered their fluttering touch. The sensation of taking flight.

“Hey, Janie-girl. What’s up?”

It was Phil, calling way too early the next morning. I held the phone away as I stretched, then brought it back to my ear.

“Hey, Phil,” I said. “You woke me up.”

“Want to go to Memorial? Have a picnic?”

“Right now?”

“It’s eleven o’clock. I’m starving.”

“You woke me up.”

“Fifteen minutes, then?”

I rubbed my hand over my face. I arched my back and pointed my toes. “Make it twenty.”

I brought the milk. He brought the Krispy Kremes. Breakfast of champions—or in this case lunch.

“So what’s kickin’?” he asked, tossing me a still-warm doughnut.

“‘What’s kickin’?’” I repeated.

“Nate Solomon said he saw you last night at some fancy party.” He made his voice sound mocking. “He said you were hot.”

I tried to hide my reaction, but I couldn’t help smiling.

“For real? Are you shitting me?”

“He was like, ‘Sorry you weren’t there, dude. Sorry you’re such a loser, dude.’”

“Oh, he did not. I think Nate is very nice.”

“Apparently he feels the same way,” Phil said. “You’re the flavor of the season. You’re the new black.”

“Please.”

“Seriously, what’s the story?” He licked a smear of glaze from his thumb, pretending he didn’t really care, but his eyes gave him away.

I tried to calm down, although inside I was jumping all around. But Phil was not the person to share it with.

“Well … I guess it’s because I’m a Bitch,” I said.

“No you’re not. Don’t even say that.”

“No,” I said. “I’m a Bitch, like Keisha and Bitsy and Mary Bryan. They ended up picking me after all.” I grinned, filled with goofy joy. “Last night was my coming-out party.”

“Oh,” Phil said. He didn’t seem terribly happy. “But in reality you’re still plain old Janie. Right?”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, I just meant that Nate’s never drooled over you before. So why should he drool over you now?”

“You’re kind of digging yourself into a hole, pardner.”