Page 78

“You guys are going to get in trouble,” Max warns.

I look over at Mr. Garrison, whose glasses are about to slip off the tip of his nose while he nods off.

I point to him, and when Max peers over her shoulder, he lets out a honk of snore that jostles him awake. She covers her mouth to muffle her laugh as she turns back around.

“Here,” I say, sliding my turtle across the table to her. “Happy birthday.”

Today she turns seventeen, and it sucks that she has to spend her birthday in this place.

She smiles. “Thanks.”

“I heard they’re bringing in cake,” Jeremy says. “Chocolate.”

As they start whispering back and forth, Sebastian passes me his turtle. “You can have it.”

“You know I can’t keep this. They’ll make me throw it away,” I tell him. It goes against the rules because people in here will use the edges to cut themselves.

“Then hide it.”

I glance around, making sure no one is watching before slipping it under my shirt and tucking it into the side of my bra under my arm.

Sebastian laughs, and when I have it securely hidden, I swat his arm.

“Lucky turtle,” he quips.

“You’re gross.”

With the rec room decorated in purple and green streamers and music playing from a rickety old stereo, we all stand around the cake table and sing a dreadful version of the “Happy Birthday” song to Max as she stands uncomfortably in front of the large sheet cake with a single lit candle.

Jeremy was right; it is chocolate, and I’m dying to get a taste of something that didn’t come out of the cafeteria.

Max closes her eyes and makes a wish before blowing out the flame. Like a bunch of sugar fiends, we wait impatiently for Shanice to cut and serve the cake. As soon as I get my piece, I grab a spoon and head over to the wall to sit on the floor away from all the commotion.

Digging in, I take a bite and close my eyes, savoring the store-bought cake that reminds me of when I was a little girl, celebrating my special day at the ice-skating rink with all my friends.

“Check it out.”

My eyes open to Sebastian standing in front of me with a plate in each of his hands.

“How’d you score two pieces?”

“Max gave me hers,” he says as he sits next to me. “If you’re nice, I’ll share.”

I roll my eyes and take another bite, remembering him being at the rink for my twelfth birthday. It was only a few years later that we would become mortal enemies.

“Finally,” he says and then takes a bite, adding with his mouth full, “real food.”

I catch Max watching me from across the room and give her a smile before she ducks her head and turns away.

“I feel bad for her,” I mutter before shoving another spoonful of frosting into my mouth.

“Who?”

“Max.” When he gives me a perplexed look, I tell him, “I mean, it’s her birthday, and they bought her a cake.”

“So?”

Dropping my spoon, I look at him straight on when I state the obvious, “She has an eating disorder.”