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“Nikki?” Wadding her napkin, she tossed it onto her tray. Okay, now he had to be kidding. Either that, or this was a setup.
“Isobel, listen to me,” he said. “The only reason she wouldn’t come over here with me today is because she thinks you hate her.”
“I don’t hate her.” The words leaped out of her mouth before she could rein them in. “I mean,” she amended, “it’s not like she’s my most favorite person in the world right now, but—”
“You know the only reason she ever went out with Brad was because she thought it would get your attention. It’s killing her that you guys don’t talk anymore. Besides that, she and Brad aren’t even dating anymore. That lasted, like, two seconds. He just won’t let her tell anyone, because he doesn’t want you to find out. All he ever talks about now is how brainwashed you are and how he’s going to mangle this guy.”
Another tray hit the table. Isobel jumped. “Why are we whispering?” Gwen whispered. Isobel looked up to see Gwen lift a length of tailor’s measuring tape from around her neck. “Sit up, you,” she said, poking Isobel between the ribs. Isobel squeaked and sat up straight. She stared at Stevie, whose eyes widened as Gwen looped the measuring tape around Isobel’s waist and drew it snug.
“Gwen,” said Isobel, “what are you doing?”
“Just never you mind,” she murmured. She stripped the tape away and pulled a pen out of her ponytail to mark the back of her wrist. “Hold out your arms. And don’t be rude. Introduce me already. Who’s your friend?”
Isobel clamped her arms in against herself like chicken wings as Gwen fussed around her. “This is Stev— Ow! ” She jolted as Gwen pinched her right on the fleshy part of her underarm.
“Hello, Stev-ow,” Gwen said. She nodded to Stevie while she strung the tape around Isobel’s bustline.
“Omigod, Gwen!” Isobel’s head whipped back and forth to see who might be watching.
“H-hey,” Stevie offered with a small wave.
“Oh, I hate you,” Gwen grumbled, making a note on the back of her wrist. She pulled the tape away again, this time drawing out one of Isobel’s arms to measure its circumference.
Scowling, Isobel gave up with a huff, resigning herself to be handled and measured and cataloged. She knew that whatever Gwen was up to, it must have something to do with the Grim Facade. She also knew that no matter what Gwen was planning, there was still no way she was going to get to go.
“Oh my gosh,” Gwen said suddenly. She dropped the tape, her gaze locking on Stevie, who froze, a forkful of spaghetti hovering inches from his open mouth. “What are you wearing underneath that?” she asked, pointing at his sweatshirt.
Stevie shot a quick look at Isobel, a loud and clear cry for help.
“Oh, sorry, sorry,” Gwen said, hands flapping. “What I mean is that I need to borrow your sweatshirt, and I wanted to make sure you had something on underneath.”
“You want to borrow my shirt?” asked Stevie. He pressed his hands down on his shoulders, as though in an effort to keep the sweatshirt in place.
“Just until after tomorrow. You got a T-shirt on underneath that, right?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
Gwen hopped up and crossed to Stevie’s side. Lifting one corner of the sweatshirt, she started peeling it away from the yellow T-shirt underneath. “Thanks a ton,” she said as she yanked it over his head. “This is exactly what I need.”
Stevie sat stunned, his short, dark brown hair alive with static electricity. Isobel gaped as Gwen wrangled the cuffs off Stevie’s wrists, then wadded the sweatshirt into a bundle before plopping down next to him. From there, she scooted over her tray, grabbed her pudding dish, and dug in with her spoon.
Isobel rolled her eyes. Shaking her head, she mouthed Sorry to Stevie, whose gaze darted from her to Gwen. As he watched Gwen finish off her pudding in three humongous bites, his expression wavered, as though he couldn’t decide if he had a good taste in his mouth or a bad one.
“So what are we talking about that’s so serious? Oh, that looks so good,” said Gwen, pointing at Isobel’s plate with her pudding spoon. “I shoulda got the pizza today. Are you finished with that?”
“No!” Isobel snapped. She slid her tray away from Gwen and picked up the slice of pizza again. She bit down just as a long shadow settled over the table.
“Trying to break your own record?” a quiet voice asked.
The pizza slipped from Isobel’s hands, tumbling onto her plate, dripping sauce on her chin. She grabbed her wadded-up napkin and pressed it to her mouth, gulping the bite down whole.