Scripted by Maya Rock Page B

coat. I’m still standing by the mirror, watching her. “Not just left, but, like,
left, now and always.
The coach got sick yesterday and called off practice, but most of the Pigeons stayed anyway. Not Callen. He’s so lazy.”
    â€œWe can all be lazy.” Would she be so irritated with him if they’d closed up last night?
    â€œHmm, speak for yourself.” She flings the coat over the back of my desk chair. She’s in jeans and another
liberato
tunic. Hers is nicer than mine, though, gauzy and pink with lace embroidery at the sleeves. It even has some shape because she put on a belt. She settles onto the bed, mouth curled petulantly. “Do you think I’m too mean to him?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I say, the total truth. I can’t take it anymore. “So, last night.” I study my fingernails.
    â€œLast night,” she repeats, puzzled. She twirls her braid around her finger. “What do you mean?”
    I swallow the lump in my throat. “You and Callen.”
    â€œMe and Callen, what?” But then she bursts out laughing. “Just kidding. I know what you mean. It didn’t happen.”
    Relief pours through me. “Oh, no—why not?”
    â€œWe’re, like, on the couch, and I reach down, and I’m going to, like, unzip his jeans, and I open my eyes, and Nettie, he has his I’m-barely-here stare.” Lia does an expert imitation of Callen’s faraway look. “We’re making out, and his arms aren’t even around me. They’re at his sides, like I’m so hard to touch. God, I felt like I had to pry his mouth open—like, am I your dentist? I couldn’t go through with it.”
    â€œEw, weird.” I sit down next to her, shaking my head. From here I have a clear view of the coat she threw on my chair. I resist the urge to put it in the closet. Lia hates it when I clean up after her.
    â€œI don’t even know if he has before. I assumed all the tracs had, but maybe I was wrong. What if he’s a virgin?” Her eyes bulge out.
    â€œI don’t know.” I giggle nervously. She waits for me to say more, but soon gives up, pulling her lucky pen out of her straw bag. “Never mind. I want to come up with some plus-ten Vows for this week. Like we talked about?” She stares at me significantly, and it takes me a second to recall her saying she’d think up juicier plotlines for me.
    â€œYeah, I remember.”
    â€œMarch twenty-third,” she declares, writing the date. A glint of light catches her eye. She looks over to the window and inhales sharply. Uh-oh. She pushes her hair forward, obscuring her mouth from the cameras. “You have to get rid of the bottle.”
    I put my chin in my hand and curl my fingers around my lips. “Does it matter? They won’t notice.”
    â€œNettie, just do it. You don’t want to get fined for keeping a dirty old bottle.”
    I stare at the bottle, glowing in the early morning sun. “The whole thing is depressing,” I mouth, remembering Scoop’s stricken face and then his questions. She’s gone, but she’s not, still in his head and mine.
    â€œYes, Nettie, I know it’s depressing, but you have to throw that bottle out,” Lia mouths, putting her hand on my arm.
    â€œI don’t want to,” I mouth back stubbornly. “I think it’s nice, and it’s been seasons since Belle even touched it.” I hang my head.
    Lia snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Stop. You’re being melodramatic. I already told you, Belle is probably happier doing publicity in the Sadtors. You are still on the show. Act like it.”
    She’s right. The company’s still taking care of Belle. I cling to that knowledge like it’s a precious jewel, and my doubts begin to fade.
    â€œWhat were your Good Things this week?” I say, taking the notebook and pen from Lia.
    â€œI got an A on