"Alright, spill," Lada says.

"What?" I look up from my book. The teacher left to do something and she clearly expected us to read a book, but some people are noticeably on their phones—but maybe there's a book on their phones, and it's not like the teacher's there to catch anyone, so who cares?

"You look happy again. Tell me."

"I got more notes."

"Oh my god, no way!" I pull out the more recent one and hand it to her. I don't know why I'm letting Lada read these, but she seems to get enough enjoyment out of it that it feels justified. "Oh, that's so sweet, oh my god!"

"I have a candy bar in my backpack." Fuck. I could have made a perfect pun there—I think. I think there was a joke there I could have found. Damnit.

"That's so nice."

"Yeah, Zane handed it to me. He said that the person who gave it to them told him not to say anything about them to me, and he got a candy bar for his efforts." Lada nods and hands it back to me. "Apparently, anyone can be a postman if you pay the right delivery fee."

"Everyone has their price, I suppose. Do you have any idea who it is?"

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. "Nope. I mean—I know they go to this school. I can cross out this one chick who's new at this school, and...anyone who's openly transphobic. ...And I think that's it."

"So, lots of candidates for the title of Upside Down Question Mark," she muses. She's wearing fishnet leggings beneath her skirt—that's one of the things I note. Also, her hair's very curly today. "Have you like, thought of any ways to reveal their identity or something?"

"I was trying to come up with one with Kohl, Deming's boyfriend. I think his main suggestion was, since Halloween's coming up, to find a really slutty costume and wait for people to become attracted to me, and one of them might be them."

"Sounds like a great idea to me," Lada says. "...Or maybe I just think everything can be solved with fashion."

I shrug. "It sounds like something a really dumb sophomore writes for a..." I realize I was gonna say romance novel and Lada's eyes brighten. "...I just don't think it's realistic for me."

"Oh, come on, what makes you say that?" She asks.

"I'm not gonna be able to get a good costume in time for Halloween, Lada."

"Have you even shopped?"

She kind of has a point—I haven't even tried. But there really isn't a point in trying. I mean, I guess I could go to a thrift shop, but a lot goes into going to the thrift shop—not only will I need to buy my costume, and not only is there a chance I won't just be able to find anything to make a costume with, but then there's gas money and I might end up going to another store to look some more and there's that gas money. Plus, I really don't want to waste my mother's time and money, or my step father's. And sizes are weird on me.

I shake my head. "I can't afford one, Lada. I should probably be studying anyway, that's a better use of my time than shopping and trying on clothes."

"What do you mean you can't afford it?"

"I'm broke, Lada."

A look of realization flashes across her face—like, she just now realized that not everyone really had the amount of money she did, and some people at this school were really only here for scholarships. "Oh. Sorry, I didn't mean..." She flushes a bit in embarrassment. "I just really like shopping, I guess."

I nod—I do, too, or at least, I would if I could enjoy it instead of stressing about money.

"...Okay, so. This might be a dumb idea," she says, twirling her pencil in her fingers. "And if I'm overstepping my bounds with my status as 'the chick you are acquainted with in chemistry' feel free to say so, but um...I wouldn't mind like, helping you find a costume and pay for it."

"You're joking," I say. I tend to assume people are joking.

"Yes, I am—it's not that I wouldn't mind, I would actually like to. We'll make a day of it, it'll be fun." She doesn't look like she's joking. "Actually, I'm hosting this dumb dinner party at my...at my second house, just out of town, and it's gonna be a lot of fun, probably, on Halloween. Since you know, we're all too old to go trick-or-treating, so I figured, why don't we all drink cheap beer, eat insane amounts of candy and dress as sexy mice or whatever while my ex-girlfriend gets an excuse to cook ridiculous amounts of food like she wants? You can totally come, and we'll get you a slutty costume."

That is a really nice offer. And really tempting, too. "I don't have to dress as a sexy mouse, though, right?"

"Well, I guess not—maybe just a playboy bunny, then. We'll figure something out. But like, I'd totally appreciate it if you came—and your friend, Deming, right? He can come too, if he wants."

It's such a nice offer. I haven't really attended parties. I guess I assumed, because this is such a prestigious school and shit, that people didn't have a whole lot of parties. But do I really want to go?

"I don't know what to say," I respond.

"...Well, a 'yes' will do. I don't know, if you don't want to come, that's fine, but I thought it was worth inviting you to."

"...I'll think about it," I say.

"Oh, cool! Do you have my number?" I shake my head and she grasps a pen and writes it on my forearm. "Here—how do you not have my number yet, we knew each other in freshman year!"

The ink is still wet when she puts a cap on the pen and pockets it. "Feel free to text me, no matter your answer."

Naturally, with all that is going on, Deming flips when he sees I have a phone number on my arm.

He doesn't ask who it belongs to, just exclaims. "Holy shiiiiit, Roz! You got a number."

"Yeah, from Lada in science."

"That's my best friend! Gettin' numbers from hot girls in science."

"What? No."

"Did the two of you have...chemistry?"

"Seriously, Deming, what the fuck are you talking about? I think she's seeing someone."

"Oh." He suddenly sounds super disappointed. "Damn it. Why can't it ever be a girl?"

"Why are you so invested in my love life right now?"

"Notes," he responds. He has a sandwich bag of trail mix. He kicks his feet beneath the lunch table. "Speaking of which, did you get another?"

I nod and hand the note to him while I pull the candy bar out of my backpack. When Deming looks back up to me, it's already half way gone.

"Noice," he says and slides it back to me.

"Yeah—Zane handed it to me in the hallway."

"Zane?" He questions—Kohl walks over with a tray of food and sits down beside him. "As in Zane Ferro?"

"Yeah," I say. "He got a candy bar for delivering it."

"Huh," he says. "You think it's—"

"Don't even finish that sentence." I take another bite of my candy bar. "Oh, yeah—the reason Lada gave me her phone number." I swallowed. "So—Kohl, does Deming know about your brilliant suggestion you gave me in the gym?"

"We put Rozhan in a slutty costume so everyone falls in love with her," he says.

"Right," I say. Deming nods—this makes sense to him. "So, Lada asked about the notes, and I told her the idea, and she was like, 'oh, that's a good idea,' and after a minute of explaining why I couldn't do it, she decided that she could help me do it. And she's planning some party or something, for Halloween, so she invited me."

"Cool!" Deming exclaims. "...You're going, right?"

"...I'm honestly not sure."

"Why not?" He asks.

I shrug, feeling kind of stupid. "It kind of sounds too good to be true, doesn't it? I mean...Lada's cool and nice and all, you know, but I don't know. In the movies, this is usually some sort of prank that's going to like, traumatize me and ruin all of high school for me."

Deming snorts. "This isn't a movie, Roz. What kind of dull, coming-of-age, romantic comedy would this be to be made into a movie?" I finish my candy bar. "You should totally go for it. If I could, I would help you but we both know I can't do much more than you."

"Maybe you'll get like, a really fun story to tell after it," Kohl says. He flips out his phone, furrows his brow and puts it down. "That'd be nice, right?"

"I don't know—"

"Roz, you should totally do it. I mean, if you don't, we can just watch Coraline for the zillionth time and eat burnt popcorn." Deming puts the bag in between him and Kohl and Kohl happily reaches in—he's sort of participating in the conversation, but also, he only has eyes for Deming.

I frown. "You never burn popcorn."

"I'm trying to motivate you," he responds.

"But I like popcorn."

"Roz," he says. "You totally should go."

"I'll think about it."

Deming sighs, but I guess it's good enough for him. The rest of our lunch is uneventful, except for the fire that almost starts in the microwave nine feet away from us.