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The alarm in her eyes has me nervous, so I whip up a lie. “I mean ... can we find a bench to eat at outside of the food court? It’s too crazy in here.”

“Oh, uh ... sure.”

She stands and gathers her bags, and I wish she would hurry as my ears hone in enough to hear a faint, “Who the hell would lay, Cricket?” followed by more laughing.

When she takes too long, I grab her drink for her and rush out.

“Is everything okay?” she asks when she catches up with me.

“Yeah, it’s a zoo back there. How can anyone enjoy their food?”

I find a bench outside of a department store and far away from Sebastian’s friends.

“This is a much better idea,” my mother says as we situate ourselves.

I feign chill, but inside, I’m a mess, rattled from what just happened. It isn’t that I’m not used to being teased, but to now be friends with Sebastian ... I don’t know what to think or how to feel.

It isn’t as if he slung insults my way, but the fact that he hangs out with them irritates me. I get that it’s important to him to fit in, that he needs it to compensate for all the crap he has to deal with that none of them know about. We talked about it this summer, and I get it, but still, I don’t like it.

At the same time, I hate that he tried sticking up for me. I wish he had kept his mouth shut, but he didn’t, and it probably raised a few red flags with them. I mean, why would someone like Sebastian defend a loser like me?

I don’t know how we’re going to manage being friends in the real world, and that thought alone makes me so sad. But how on Earth is this supposed to work?

“How’s the pizza?”

“Good,” I say automatically. When she looks at my untouched slice, I pick it up and take a bite, repeating, “Good,” as I chew.

She smiles. “This was fun. I’ve missed spending time with you.”

Yeah. Loads of fun.

If she only knew.

“Are there any other stores you want to go in?”

“Not really. I’m kind of ready to leave, if that’s okay?”

She gives a nod and we finish our lunch. Somehow, I manage to force down half my slice before tossing the other half into the garbage before we grab our bags and drive home.

Dumping all my new clothes out onto the bed, I go to my desk to get my scissors, but they’re gone.

“Mom,” I yell from my room, “where are my scissors?”

“What do you need scissors for?”

“To cut the tags off.”

“Just use nail clippers.”

I press my lips together in a heap of frustration for the mere fact that she treats me like a baby. Seriously, I can’t have scissors?

Picking up a top, I use my hands to pop off the tags before moving to the next item. When they’re all off and I’m digging in my closet for some empty hangers, the doorbell rings. Curiously, I peek out of my room as my mom opens the door, but I can’t see who’s on the porch.

“Is Harlow home?” My neck flames, and I duck back into my room.

What the hell is he doing here?

“Harlow, someone’s here to see you.”