Just as I was going to defend my mad skill at lying, the creature whose name shall not be spoken aloud waltzed toward us like she owned the joint. She had blue eyes.

She stopped at our table, unfortunately, and glanced around, probably looking for Jared. When she didn’t find him, she turned her attention elsewhere. It would seem our friendship had been fleeting, like two ships passing in the night. Or two planes passing during peak hours, almost colliding in midair, and killing dozens of innocent people.

“Ash,” she said, flipping a blond strand over her shoulder, “what are you doing?”

I cringed at the abrasive sound of her voice and tried not to seize. It had some kind of paralyzing superpower.

“What do you mean?” Ash asked her.

Tabitha scoffed. “This is not our table.”

“I didn’t know we’d bought real estate.” Ash indicated the room with a wave. “I just figured I could sit anywhere. Crazy, right?”

“Oh … my gawd. Whatever.” Then she focused on me, and her expression changed to one of sympathy. “That’s so sad about your clothes,” she said, her face a picture of faux pity.

Brooke jumped to my defense. “And that’s so sad about your face.” She was almost getting better with the comebacks.

Tabitha snorted and turned to Amber, her comrade-in-arms. “Wow, I’ve been put in my place.”

“And good,” Amber said, agreeing.

Ashlee leaned forward, wearing the same sweet smile she’d offered Glitch. “What’s really sad is when girls old enough to know better wear pink and orange together.”

Tabitha’s breath caught. She looked down at her pink outfit then at her orange bracelet.

“You know,” Ashlee continued, “like a third-grader might.”

A scarlet tinge infused Tabitha’s pale skin, and her mouth thinned as she forced it into the shape of a smile. “I guess it is. I’ll see you at practice.”

“See you there!” Ash said with a huge grin.

“Wow,” Brooke said. “You’re my new hero.”

Ash smiled again, bashfully. “You just have to know how to handle her. The faster you shut her up, the better it is for everyone involved.”

JUICE: ORANGE AND BITTERSWEET

I was a little floored that Ashlee had joined us for lunch, but when her attention kept flitting toward Glitch, I was even more floored. Like carpet on installation day.

Brooke and I had four classes together, and our seventh-hour Foods and Nutrition class was one of them. We walked in about five seconds late, but Ms. Phipps didn’t notice. She didn’t seem to feel well and decided to show a video on nutrition so she didn’t have to teach. Which worked out perfectly, since I didn’t want her to teach. My mind was full up for the day.

I poked Brooke in the ribs. We’d scooted our desks closer under the pretense that we couldn’t see the video.

“What?” she whispered, eyeing Ms. Phipps, who was sitting at her desk with sunglasses on. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she had a hangover. Then again, I didn’t know any better. She could’ve been a lush, for all I knew. “I’m trying to sleep.”

I leaned closer and whispered, “I saw into that picture.”

She pointed at the screen and asked through a yawn, “Can food get any more boring? I thought lettuce was supposed to be green. You saw into what picture?”

“That picture from the newsletter. I was touching it with my elbow, and I saw into it. I saw it literally being shot.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand. What does your elbow have to do with it?”

“No, nothing. Brooke, stay with me. I was there. Melanie what’s-her-name was taking pictures. The kids were on the playground equipment. I was there. In the middle of it all.”

Brooke’s mouth parted as my meaning dawned. “You mean, you had a vision?”

“Yes, only, I don’t know. It’s like I went into the picture. Like I was just there.”

She leaned forward. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others. I don’t know what this means.”

“It means you’re the coolest chick I know, that’s what it means.”

I pursed my lips before saying, “Besides that.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t know either, but whatever it means, we need to work on it. To hone it.” She splayed her fingers in the air. Not sure why. Then she bounced back. “This must be part of your gift.”

“I love that you call it a gift,” I said.

“I’m sorry. It’s just, well, it is a gift. It’s just hard for you to see it as such with you becoming suicidal and all every time you get a vision.”

“I don’t become suicidal every time. And they’re counting on me, Brooke. My grandparents are counting on me. Jared is counting on me. Even people who died hundreds of years ago are counting on me, if the ancient texts in the archive room are any indication. It sucks.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry, Lor.” She gave me a moment, then asked, “But, really, are you finished wallowing in self-pity yet?”

I breathed out a heavy sigh. “Almost. Give me another minute.”

“Can’t.” She did a head dive toward her backpack. “We have to work fast.”

“What? I don’t want to work fast. Slow and steady wins the race.”