Sunday, surprisingly, took the news a whole lot better than I thought.

"Invited you!" she kept shouting between her laughs, loud enough that people around us would turn and stare. Sunday didn't seem to care. "Invited you!" she repeated. "Oh, this is glorious! No, but listen—listen, you have to do it. I want to hear everything they do!"

Shifting in my seat, I brushed a strand of hair out of my face and hoped Sunday's laughter wasn't loud enough to alert Felicia and the others. "I don't know," I said. "This seems fishy to me. She's only doing this because of Brandon, right?"

"Obviously," Sunday said at once, sobering up. "What else would this be, Felicia Kensington actually being nice to people? Might as well start believing in unicorns!"

"You believe in ghosts," Dan remarked between two mouthfuls of chicken nugget.

"That's different! You can't see ghosts, so you can't prove they're not there." Sunday made a dismissive hand gesture. "Unicorns aren't paranormal, they're just fake!"

Dan looked unconvinced. "Anyway," I interrupted before they could get off topic, "what do you guys think I should do?"

"I dunno, probably stop overthinking." Dan finished up his chicken nuggets and attempted to steal some from Sunday's tray, only to get slapped on the fingers. "Felicia's a popular girl, not an evil mastermind."

Sunday rolled her eyes and pointed to the tomatoes in my salad. "That's like saying these are tomatoes, not vegetables!"

"Tomatoes are fruit, though," Dan replied.

"Whatever! My point is, she's a vegetable." Sunday motioned irritably in Felicia's direction. "A big, evil, poisonous vegetable."

"I don't know," I said. "She was…pretty nice to me. Like…I don't know if she was serious, but she called me cute and gave me one of her sandwiches when she thought I wasn't eating enough—"

"Definitely fake," Sunday said flatly.

"You sure?" Dan replied. "Didn't Felicia use to—"

"Fake," Sunday insisted. "She cared so much about looking like a supermodel she totally starved herself. She just doesn't want you to get too pretty and steal her spotlight."

Oh, I thought, not surprised but still disappointed. That made sense. Although I still couldn't help wondering why Felicia had been so insistent about me accepting her compliment, or so happy when I had.

"So…you have any survival tips for me?" I asked Sunday with a helpless smile. "I could really use some help from a cool person here."

Sunday smirked, clearly flattered by the compliment. "First of all, don't ever let them change the way you think," she said. "Judging people is fun, but it's bitchy, so don't do it."

Dan tried to steal her food again and failed. "Aren't you kinda judging Felicia the whole time?"

"I'm punching up," Sunday retorted. "Felicia's punching down. It's different."

"Oh yeah, that thing."

"Anyway, don't let her teach you to judge the underdogs," Sunday went on, turning back to me. "Be an undercover agent. Do whatever you need to get her off your back, but don't ever—ever—let her change you."

I nodded vigorously. "Noted."

"Great!" Grinning encouragingly, Sunday messed up my hair. "Go out there and slay, girl!"

I still had no idea what I was doing, but I figured my best choice would be to go with the flow.

~ ~ ~

"You're always hiding behind your clothes," Felicia greeted me when I joined her group again for lunch the next day.

Awkwardly, I looked down along myself, taking in the jeans and loose navy blue T-shirt I was wearing. It was true that my clothes did a pretty good job at hiding the outline of my body, even if they still couldn't fully conceal my size.

"What do you mean?" I asked, wondering if this was supposed to be a jab at my outfit. Popular girls, I'd heard, loved to do that sort of thing.

"You're always wearing this loose clothing in muted colors," Felicia remarked, motioning to my whole body with a quick hand gesture. "Are you, like, scared that people will stare if you wear something flashy or what?"

Busted, I thought. What was I supposed to reply now? Would she try to get me to change my whole wardrobe into cooler clothes or something? What did girls like her do in this kind of situation?

"You don't like it?" I asked awkwardly. "I know I don't dress like you three, but…is that a problem?"

"Do you like it?"

I blinked. For some reason nobody had ever asked me that before.

"What?"

"Do you like dressing like this?" Felicia asked, holding my gaze. "I personally think it's pretty boring, but it's your style, so if you like it then I'm not gonna say anything. You know?"

That was what she said, but I didn't know if she didn't mean the opposite. "It's…what I'm comfortable in," I said haltingly.

Felicia accepted that answer and moved on. My mind, meanwhile, lingered on her question. The style I liked…

There were so many things I wished I could pull off, but was too scared to wear. Pastels and ruffles, romantic cuts and patterns, something cute and dreamy that would make me look like a character in a period drama or an off-duty fairy tale princess. But no one else around me seemed to dress like that, so if I wore the clothes I truly wanted, that would instantly make me the center of attention. And I really, really didn't want to be stared at by everyone.

If only I could be as confident as Sunday, I thought. She was rocking her blue hair and scene clothes and makeup without giving a damn about all of those things. Me? I could never imagine it in a million years.

"Anyway, did you hear that Cassie and Mac are together again?" Felicia was saying when I zoned back in on the conversation. "God, that girl never learns. I literally don't care how hot he is, that guy is a sleazeball!"

Chelsea nodded quietly. "He was trying to make a move on me the day after they got back together."

"Seriously? Ugh, that guy is so gross. What did he say?"

"Something about cherry-popping. I've tried to erase it from my memory."

Felicia shook herself. "I hope you slapped him!"

"I just left," Chelsea admitted. "I didn't want any trouble."

"Slap him next time," Felicia replied and took a bite out of her sandwich. "I swear, all the guys in this school are human garbage. Did you have any better ones at your old one, Pearl?"

I jumped, startled to get addressed directly. "I'm not sure," I admitted. "I never really talked to the guys there."

"Good for you," she said with a smile.

"All the best boys are fictional anyway," I said on impulse, and then instantly wondered why I had said that and exposed myself as a nerd.

"Wait," I spluttered. "No, I—that was a bit—"

"I know, right?" Louie agreed fervently. "Why can't Disney princes be real?"

A childhood memory sparked up, little me curled up on the couch at home, watching Disney movie after Disney movie, daydreaming about being a pretty princess and finding my own prince. I had grown out of it in favor of books later, but deep inside…I guessed the magic was still there.

"Tell me about it," I said shyly, encouraged by Louie's radiant smile. "Oh, to meet my fairy tale prince in a song and dance sequence when I'm wearing a beautiful gown…"

"Yeah! Yeah!" Louie answered, then added sheepishly, "But I'm bad at singing."

I was kind of good at it, I thought. Back in middle school I had been part of the glee club, and once or twice I'd even been given a solo. But my old high school hadn't had one due to lack of interest, and I had put singing on the back burner since.

"It's okay!" I told Louie. "I bet you're not that bad."

"No, I really am," she answered. "I always lose at karaoke."

"That just means you can't hit the notes very well. You could still have a good voice!"

Felicia gave me a long look, accompanied by an unreadable smile.

"Um…what?" I asked, squirming under her stare.

"Nothing," Felicia replied. "You're pretty positive when it's not about you."

My face heated up. It was true, I realized; somewhere along the line I had made it a habit to always build up others wherever I could, offering my support and encouragement. At this point it came to me naturally most of the time, unless I was either very afraid or very wary of someone.

"Thanks," I muttered, not knowing what else to say.

Louie smiled warmly. "I still can't sing, but thank you," she said. "But I'm good at dancing!"

"Of course you are," Chelsea said quietly. "We're cheerleaders."

"I'm a cheerleader because I'm good at dancing," Louie replied. "I'm not good at dancing because I'm a cheerleader."

"You guys are cheerleaders?" I asked.

"Oh! Yeah," Felicia said, flexing her arm to show off lean muscle. "Where else do you think I got these guns?"

…I had to admit, I hadn't noticed before, but her arm muscles were kind of impressive. Not even bulky, and definitely leaner than Brandon's arms—butterflies stirred in my stomach at the thought—but I had zero doubts that she could easily destroy a man if she felt like it.

Tall, slim like a model, made entirely of muscle, and blessed with a beautiful face. How could one human being have all of that together? Life wasn't fair!

"I see!" I said, wide-eyed. Jokingly, I added, "I hope I won't ever have to beat you in a fight!"

"I'm not even that strong," Felicia replied easily. "Chelsea could kick all our asses alone. Right, Chel?"

Chelsea made no comment.

Leaning across the table, Louie turned to me again. "Are you good at dancing, Pearl?"

"Um…" Squirming awkwardly, I looked down. "Good enough to dance alone in my room?"

"Good enough," Felicia decided. "Anyway, Pearl—are you free on Saturday afternoon?"

Saturday? I had nothing planned, but the question took me off guard. "I…think so?"

"Great! We three have cheerleading duty till five, let's hang out after that." Felicia smiled expectantly. "Deal?"

I was getting in deeper and deeper, I thought. Chelsea was eyeing me darkly from the side, not saying anything, and that wasn't the only thing that made me hesitate. Once again I was painfully aware of how out of place I was beside these three. Part of me still felt like this was all one big elaborate prank, and when I showed up on Saturday the whole school would laugh at me.

But so far, Louie and even Felicia actually seemed kind of…nice?

And in any case, I didn't think Felicia would take no for an answer without a good excuse.

So, what else was I supposed to do?

"Um…okay," I said slowly. "Deal."

~ ~ ~

"Still hanging out with the in-crowd, staircase girl?"

I jumped. Just like before, Brandon had manifested out of nowhere to lean against the locker next to mine.

"How do you keep doing that?" I asked with a nervous laugh, trying and failing to calm my heartbeat. "I never hear you coming."

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Brandon smirked, and once again I found myself getting lost in the green of his eyes, framed by long, black, feathery lashes that painted a dazzling pattern of light and shadows. "But that's not why I'm here," he went on. "I can't stay long, I'm about to become a slave to the team again."

"Oh," I said, disappointed. "Football practice?"

"What can I say? There's a match on Saturday." Brandon paused, then tilted his head as he asked, "You're cheering me on, right?"

My heart did a leap. "Of course!"

He smirked, then leaned in close, so close I could feel his breath on my face.

"Nice," he said in a low, deep voice. "At least something to look forward to."

My mind was still spinning in circles when he brushed past me and disappeared down the hallway.

Then, little by little, the gears in my brain started working.

Wait.

Saturday. Saturday afternoon.

Wasn't that when I was supposed to hang out with Felicia and her girls?