“Of course, Ruth. I can even show you how to properly stalk someone online.”
Ruth beamed. Naomi and Ruth really hit it off at the quince. I knew for a fact that Ruth had already created a wedding Pinterest board for the two of them.
“What about you?” I asked Fabián. “Are you gonna see green-hair guy again?”
Fabián shrugged. “Austin? Maybe. I’ve got theater with him today.”
He had a toothpick in his mouth and wore his leather jacket, the one with all the buckles and snaps. He didn’t fool me, though. I knew he only wore that leather jacket when he wanted to impress someone. Probably Austin.
“And you have theater with Matty, right?” I pressed. “Maybe you could find out if he’s dating anyone?”
“Maybe.” Fabián shrugged. “I have tryouts against him this weekend.”
I’d told Ameh Sara about the party on Saturday, but she asked so many questions about how a quinceañera worked (she’d never been to one, either), I barely had time to tell her about how Matty talked to me before she rushed off to class. She’d mentioned how her schedule was going to be more intense since she was leaving in the middle of the semester to see us, but I didn’t realize that meant she’d have less time to talk to me. I wished she was here already.
Ruth’s mom had packed her seolleongtang for lunch today, and the milky ox-bone soup smelled like heaven. I took a spoonful, trying to get a bunch of cellophane noodles in each bite. If I couldn’t talk about my feelings, at least I could eat through them.
“Ew,” a girl said as she walked past. “What is that?”
I narrowed my eyes. I recognized that girl from the party—she was one of Yessenia’s friends and played flute in band. Her shampoo was so fruity I could practically taste it, and her brown hair had been highlighted to within an inch of its life.
Ruth had gone very still next to me, her eyes looking down.
“It’s seolleongtang.” I rolled my eyes. “And what’s that? A sad sandwich?” I pointed to the crustless PB&J in her ziplock bag. Who cut the crust off bread? It was literally the best part.
The girl rolled her eyes back. “At least my lunch doesn’t smell.”
“Yeah, or provide probiotics,” I scoffed loudly. She looked at me like I was crazy. The courtyard, I noticed, had suddenly gone very quiet as people watched our standoff.
“Whatever,” the girl said, stalking away in a cloud of mango and coconut. Fabián hissed at her retreating back. Ruth looked like she was going to cry. She wordlessly passed her thermos of soup my way, suddenly ashamed of it.
“Don’t worry, Ruth. That girl’s probably just constipated—her lunch had zero vegetables or fiber.” I glared at her across the courtyard as she opened a diet (shiver) soda.
Fabián took his boots off our picnic table and leaned forward. “That was Amanda Michaels,” Fabián began. “She is a terrible dancer,” he added, as if that settled what a bad person she was.
“It’s fine,” Ruth said, looking miserable. “I just haven’t had someone make fun of my lunch since middle school. I thought we were over that stuff here.”
“Of course we are, Ruth. And anyone who doesn’t like seolleongtang isn’t worth getting upset over.”
Ruth nodded. “I wonder if Naomi likes seolleongtang?”
“She better,” I replied. “Or heads will roll.”
Ruth gave me a small smile.
“So, can I finish this . . . ?” I gestured to the rest of her lunch. I’d already inhaled my portion, and I wasn’t about to let good soup go to waste.
“Parvin!”
“What?”
■ ■ ■ BAND 1:00 P.M.
Amanda Michaels thinks she’s so great. What she doesn’t know is that I left lunch early to head to the band room and dump Cheeto dust into her flute. The extra-spicy kind.
The second she played her instrument, she was going to spray herself with 100 percent pure orange. Served her right for messing with my friends.
We started playing arpeggios, and I kept Amanda in the corner of my eye. After the first note, she recoiled from her flute, wondering what was going on with it. She clasped the open end of the woodwind and started to blow into it, trying to dislodge whatever was stuck in there and failing. I watched her shrug and keep playing, but I doubted any sound was coming out. We came up to the arpeggio run, and thunk, the Cheeto dust shot out of the mouthpiece, spraying her chin with orange powder.
“AHHH!” she screamed. Ms. Kaiser stopped conducting and blinked down at Amanda, who was now covered in orange dust. I tried really hard not to laugh. It was an Oscar-worthy performance.
“Oh my GOD!” Amanda shouted. “What the HELL?!”
Her entire face was orange. She looked like she had a spray tan gone wrong. All she needed was a red baseball hat and she could run for president.
I watched Matty laugh along with the rest of the back row. What would happen if he found out I was responsible? Would he think it was cool? Or would he be grossed out that I had crushed an entire bag of Cheetos under my shoe to make the perfect powder to slip into a flute? I swiveled back around. Better to have nobody find out I’d done it.
“Ew!” Yessenia shuddered, sitting next to Amanda. “Did you eat Cheetos before you played?”
Amanda looked near tears as she ran out of the room, still clutching her flute.
“That”—Ms. Kaiser frowned to the rest of the class—“was distracting.”
She tapped her music stand, raised her arms, and resumed conducting us through our arpeggios as if nothing had happened. I innocently blew on my bassoon, my embouchure hiding my grin. I turned my head slightly to look at Ruth, and she looked right back, also trying hard not to smile as she realized what I’d done.
Nobody messed with my friends.
Except me.
■ ■ ■ GYMNASIUM 8:00 P.M.
Later that night was one of Fabián’s dance showcases, and
