Chapter 4

From the moment Sutton got out of the shower on Friday morning, she had the oddly nostalgic feeling that she was going on a school field trip. This Friday morning had the same strange thrill as all those mornings in elementary and high school, when Sutton had woken up and remembered with a leap in her stomach that her class was going to the state capitol or the Jimmy Carter Museum or the Margaret Mitchell House. Back then, Sutton had traded her private school uniform for a pair of American Eagle jeans and an overpriced Abercrombie t-shirt. Today she traded her work slacks and heels for a dark-washed pair of Levis and flats.

Her co-workers were dressed down as well, not just in clothing but also in motivation. Each one of them had a suitcase or duffle bag or, in Javier's case, a black trash bag, bunched up against their desk as a reminder of the company retreat. The sales team wasted a lot of time chatting in the break room that morning. Wyatt played Solitaire on his computer without bothering to hide the screen. And Debbie, when Sutton ambled over to talk to her, was flipping through a J. Crew catalog right at her desk.

"Don't you have any work?" Sutton laughed, half horrified, half impressed.

"It's Retreat day," Debbie shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Hey, what do you think of this cardigan?"

Sutton didn't answer. Ada had just walked across the office, her lanky frame seeming even skinnier in a pair of jeans, and Sutton suddenly remembered, with heat that felt like a fever, she and Ada wandering away from their classmates to explore the Jimmy Carter Museum on their own.

They whiled away the hours until Marta told them to shut off their computers at three o'clock. Then they left in bunches to meet the shuttle in the parking lot.

The shuttle was smaller than Sutton had hoped. She had expected a big luxury bus, one of those white chartered ones with cushy purple seats and plenty of room to stretch out.

But this shuttle was more like one of those dinky airport shuttles where Sutton always ended up banging her ankle on someone else's suitcase.

Sutton stepped onto the shuttle and assessed her seating options as fast as she could. Shit. Debbie and Wyatt, her two choices for seating partners, were already sitting together. Javier hadn't yet boarded, so Sutton could choose an empty pair of seats and hope he would sit next to her, but what if...? No, surely Ada wouldn't dare sit next to her. Had she not made it clear in the break room yesterday that she had no desire to be around Sutton? Had she not practically choked out her revulsion?

Sutton took a gamble: she sat down in an empty pair of seats. Then she held her breath and tried to act like she wasn't zeroing in on every person who climbed onto the shuttle behind her.

Go figure Ada was just a couple of people down the line. She slipped onto the bus with her usual regal demeanor, looking for all the world like she was going to a private banquet at a country club rather than on a corporate retreat with a bunch of idiosyncratic coworkers.

Ada's eyes skirted over the empty seat next to Sutton, and for a blistering moment, Sutton held her breath.

But Ada glided right past her, not saying a word. Sutton fought the urge to turn around and see where she had chosen to sit instead.

Javier clambered onto the bus next, wearing a t-shirt that said There is no defying gravity, you musical moron. He had big clunky headphones collared around his neck and was biting into a Slim Jim as he scooted down the middle of the bus. Sutton looked to catch his eye, but when he saw her, he waved noncommittally and shuffled on down the row. When she turned around to see where he had landed, she saw him settling in next to Ada.

And that's how Sutton found herself sitting with On-Delay for the ninety-minute bus ride.

"Are you looking forward to the retreat?" she asked as the shuttle pulled out of the parking lot.

He side-eyed her and inhaled a long breath. After a deep sigh that seemed to go on for a full minute, he muttered, "No," and that was the only word she got out of him for the duration of the ride.

The lodge was prettier than she had thought it would be. They all piled off the shuttle and into the lodge's reception area, which had a 30-foot-high ceiling with crossbeams, a stone fireplace, and a shag carpet with a bear's head at the foot of it (Sutton did not want to know whether or not that bear's head was real). Marta took care of checking in their team while they all milled about the reception area, making small chatter and assuring themselves that it was normal to spend a Friday night in rural Georgia with their colleagues.

"Time to get the party started," Mikey P. said, pulling a flask out of his jacket.

"What the fuck, Mikey, put that away," Debbie said. "You're underage and Marta is right there."

Mikey tried to remain cool, but his cheeks reddened. "I was just trying to get a jump on everything."

"It's not a race, dude," Wyatt said.

Sutton sat on the arm of a leather chair, watching them, feeling suddenly exhausted. She wanted to be home in her old bed, watching Netflix with Wilson Phillips curled up next to her. Her eyes flicked across the reception area, to where Ada stood near the check-in desk, her eyes glued to her cell phone.

"Alright, Cynterans, we're all set!" Marta called, spinning around to face the room. "Can I get one person from each room to come grab a key? Then we'll meet for dinner in an hour."

Sutton let Debbie rush forward to grab the key tag. Ada had apparently reached the same decision. Debbie took the key from Marta and looked around for both of them, and Sutton pulled herself up from the chair, setting her jaw as she went to join them.

And then it was just the three of them, trudging along to their cabin. The pathways were all outside, filled with white and gray pebbles. Everywhere Sutton looked, her eyes met shades of green. They were surrounded by trees and wild grass and blooming summer flowers.

As they pushed on, carting their suitcases and bags behind them, Debbie listed all the things they could do that weekend. "And we can have an old-fashioned sleepover one of the nights," she half-yelled to them. "Maybe make some s'mores and sit up talking about guys!"

Sutton scoffed inwardly.

They reached their cabin, which sat in an isolated clearing by itself. They had to walk across a skinny wooden footbridge that crossed over a small pond in order to reach it. Sutton supposed most people would find the whole thing charming and rustic, but she felt impatient and cranky.

"This is so cute," Debbie gushed when they reached the cabin. "Way better than the room I had last year. That's part of the reason I wanted a three-bedroom, you know?"

"Smart thinking," Ada said flatly.

Debbie swung open the door to their cabin, and they all stood in the doorway for a moment, taking it in. Then Debbie strode forward into the space and left her suitcase standing in the middle of the floor.

"Way cute," she said, talking to herself. "Oooh--I want this bed. Do you guys care if I take this bed?"

It was on the end of the cabin, next to the window--which meant Sutton and Ada would have to take the two adjacent beds in the middle of the cabin. They would have to sleep mere feet away from each other.

Sutton glanced at Ada, who looked as irritated as she felt. "That's fine, Debbie," Sutton said, speaking for both of them. "I don't really care which bed I get, as long as I can sleep for a long 10 hours."

"More like 11," Ada said under her breath.

"What?"

Ada didn't reply; she walked over to the bed on the other end of the room and lay her giant purse on top of it.

So Sutton would get the bed in the middle. Great.

"I'm gonna text Wyatt," Debbie announced. "See what he and Javi are doing before dinner."

"They're probably unpacking and putzing around, like I imagine everyone is," Sutton said.

"Not everyone," Ada said, lying down on her bed. She secured headphones around her ears, scrolled through her phone for a few seconds, and then closed her eyes and lay backward without further ado. Sutton could hear the music blaring even from where she stood near the door.

Debbie shook her head. "She's weird sometimes," she whispered.

Sutton didn't reply. She felt barbed, all of a sudden, by an instinct she knew to be true: Ada was uncomfortable. Ada was nervous. Sutton couldn't parse apart how she knew this; she just did.

"She probably needs some settling time," Sutton said after a beat.

"Yeah, whatever," Debbie said, raising her eyebrows. "Hey--you want to take a shot?"

Dinner was served buffet style. The lodge staff had set up round tables in a small conference room off the main reception area, but Marta encouraged everyone to take their dinner wherever they liked--to explore the grounds and "forge deeper connections with your teammates."

The lodge chef had cooked up authentic Southern barbecue for them. It smelled so delicious that it buoyed Sutton out of her bad mood. She loaded her plate with pulled pork and coleslaw and baked beans and fried macaroni, and then she followed Wyatt, Debbie, and Javier out into the grounds. She felt Ada following them, too.

They chose a small garden setting just outside the main lobby. It had white wicker rocking chairs and a small trickling fountain in the corner. Debbie had followed Wyatt into the love seat; Javier and Sutton chose individual rocking chairs to settle in. Ada ended up having to share with Mikey P.

"Did you not see the pulled pork?" Wyatt asked Ada, whose plate was conspicuously missing one of the barbecue sandwiches.

Ada made a face. "I'm a vegetarian."

Wyatt stopped chewing. "What?"

"A vegetarian," Ada repeated, saying each syllable slowly. "What, have you never met one?"

"I'm just surprised," Wyatt said, leaning back into his seat. "I thought eating vegetarian was, like, a white people trend."

Sutton could feel the prickling on the air. She watched as Ada's mouth contorted the way it always used to when they were teenagers.

"There's no racial requirement for eating vegetarian," Ada said coldly.

"I don't think he's trying to be a dick," Mikey P. said, gesturing with his fork. "He's just making a cultural observation."

"Shut up, Mikey," Sutton said, surprising herself with her anger.

"No, I get it," Debbie said. "I mean, different ethnic groups do tend to have their own eating patterns. Most Koreans eat so much meat. Do you have any idea what my parents would think if I came home and said I wouldn't eat bulgogi anymore because I'd given up meat? I might as well announce that the grass is purple."

"Nah, man," said Javier. "You shouldn't generalize about people. Individuals do their own shit."

"I meant no offense," Wyatt said, speaking to the whole group. "I just think it's really neat and interesting that Ada's a vegetarian because, you know, most of the vegetarians I've met are white. Just goes to show the diversity of people, I guess."

"That's fascinating," Ada said, stabbing a bean on her fork. "Maybe you can make me a list of all the ways I'm defying black culture."

"Aw, come on, Ada," Wyatt said. "You know what I meant by it."

Sutton felt her anger burst out of her throat.

"You know her mom's white, right?" she said, practically shouting. Her neck was flaring with heat; she recognized, somewhere deep inside of her, the signs of a reckless rant coming on. "Yeah, but the funny thing is, her black dad is the vegetarian one. Because he's a philosophy professor who studies animal rights. Isn't that absolutely interesting? I'll bet it helps you make more sense of this conundrum, huh, Wyatt?"

Wyatt gawped stupidly at Sutton. So did everyone else. Except for Ada, who sat with her chest heaving and her eyes burning fire.

"Wait, are you like, friends with her dad or something?" Mikey P. said.

Sutton didn't have time to stammer through a reply before Ada stood up, slammed her plate onto the nearest table, and stalked off.

"Ugh," Sutton said, throwing her own plate down. "Damn it, Wyatt, learn some tact while I'm gone!"

She left them all sitting with their jaws open while she ran off after Ada.

She found her pacing outside their cabin, her eyes still burning hatred.

"What the fuck, Ada?" she yelled as she came upon her. "What the hell was that?"

"Excuse me?" Ada yelled back. "You're asking me that? You're the one who inserted yourself for no reason, when it was none of your business!"

"Because you weren't defending yourself!"

"What?! Are you fucking deaf? Did you not hear me defending myself? Do you think I'm not used to hearing that shit? Think I haven't had any practice before in explainingmyself and my peculiar non-black or too-black tendencies? You know I have! No, you're just pissed because I didn't justify their stupidity with the easy explanation. 'Oh, she's not really black, she's actually half-white, so that explains everything!'"

"It's your fucking identity! Why shouldn't they know who you are?"

"Because they don't need to! Because my parents are none of their business! They're our fucking work colleagues, Sutton, why the hell would I go telling them my whole life story? Have you told them anything about your parents? Or do they not need to know because they can safely assume that both your parents are white like you?"

"Well, I would have told them about my parents if it helped to explain my identity!"

"Oh, really?! Then maybe you should tell them how your parents haven't slept in the same room for 10 years, because I'll bet that would help to explain why you're such a cynical, defensive pain in the ass all the time!"

Sutton reeled back, winded, like she had just been punched in the stomach. Her ears were aching and she suddenly became conscious of how hard she was breathing. And without warning, hot tears pricked at her eyes, making her whole body heat over with humiliation.

Ada's face changed from blistering anger to uncomfortable surprise. "Oh--Sutton, come on. I didn't mean that."

Sutton turned away from her, pawing at her eyes, still breathing hard. She would not cry in front of Ada Cosgrove. She would not.

"Sutton," Ada said. Her voice was different. Naked. Stripped of its usual acid.

"Don't," Sutton said. "Don't say my name like that."

Ada didn't ask what she meant. Sutton knew she knew. How many times had Ada said her name that way when Sutton had been hurting in high school? When Ada had been trying to cheer her up? When Sutton was crying into Ada's neck and Ada was brushing her hair across her forehead?

"Look, I'm sorry," Ada said, adding some edge back to her voice. "I just--this whole thing of working with you--of working with someone who used to know me so well, even though we haven't--" she stopped. "It's throwing me off. It's messing with my head."

"Do you think it's not messing with mine?"

"I know it is," Ada sighed. "Listen, let's just be civil to one another. I will respect you as a professional, and you respect me. We don't have to be friends."

"I wouldn't want to be friends again anyway," Sutton said.

Ada's face showed a split-second's hurt before she recovered. Within a beat she had plastered that haughty, removed expression back on and was looking witheringly at Sutton. "Well, whatever. You can stay here and keep crying if you want, but just so you know, Debbie has the key to our room."

And she stalked off again, leaving Sutton spinning in a whirlwind of memories and past/present collision.

"What the hell was that about earlier?" Debbie asked when Sutton met up with her.

"Sorry," Sutton said, though she didn't mean it. "Sometimes my temper gets the best of me."

"No, I don't mean your melodramatic outburst," Debbie said matter-of-factly. "I'm talking about all that stuff you know about Ada. How do you know all that?"

Sutton ground her teeth together. "Er--we went to high school together, and...one time we had to work on a project together, so I learned a few things about her."

"Oooh. That makes sense. I thought you guys had been, like, best friends in a previous life!"

"No."

"We had to talk Wyatt off a cliff after you left. He felt like such an asshole. He was going on about how you might report him to HR and blah blah blah."

"Good. I'm glad he was worrying about it."

"I told him you wouldn't have the patience to fill out the HR forms."

Sutton considered. "That's probably true."

"Do you want to hit up the campfire? Everybody's heading there. On-Delay brought his banjo. He's gonna sing for us all."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Yeah, it's the only time he vocalizes on normal time. So are you in?"

The campfire was so disgustingly kumbaya that Sutton felt like she was in a PSA for corporate retreats. Her colleagues circled around the stone fire pit, some of them standing, some of them sitting on tree stumps a few feet back from the fire, everyone's faces lit up by the blazing flames. Nearly all of them were singing along with On-Delay's banjo.

Sutton remembered high school parties, back during the craze of Northface fleeces and Birkenstock clogs, when the thing to do every weekend was meet at the fire pit in Joey Lauder's backyard. She remembered a chilly Saturday night, sometime in the fall of her junior year, when Ada had been so cold she had stood in front of Sutton, gathered Sutton's arms around her waist, and held both their hands in the front pocket of her hoodie while they watched the fire.

But Sutton would not think about that. That memory had no place in her current life.

On-Delay sang Peter, Paul, and Mary songs. He sang Bob Dylan and Joan Baez. Then he confounded them all when he performed an acoustic version of Nelly's "Hot in Herre." Everyone was drinking--even Marta, who kept swigging from a plastic tumbler full of mysterious liquid. Mikey P. kept hitting his flask when he thought no one was looking--even though everyone knew he was drinking and no one gave a shit at this point. Wyatt stood diagonally across from Sutton and flinched every time she looked at him.

Ada showed up 15 minutes after the campfire had started. She stood behind everyone, her eyes transfixed on the flames. For some reason, Sutton desperately wished Ada would look at her.

Debbie eventually left her spot next to Sutton and scooted over to stand with Wyatt. Javier came to take her place. He didn't say anything to Sutton, but after a few minutes he offered her a share of his drink. It tasted like Red Bull mixed with Southern Comfort. It was disgusting. She drank it anyway.

Then people started trickling off to bed. Holly-Ann stumbled on her way out and had to be escorted back to her room by Marta. On-Delay stopped strumming his banjo, and when they all thanked him for playing, he eyed them all for a whole 30 seconds before he muttered, "You're welcome."

Wyatt and Debbie left within a couple minutes of each other. Sutton looked at Javier with raised eyebrows, wordlessly asking, Think they're hooking up? But Javier didn't register what she was asking. "What, is there chocolate on my face?" he said, wiping the back of his hand down his mouth.

Sutton left after that. She trekked back to her cabin, using the flashlight app on her cell phone to light the way. She was glad to be alone.

The lights were off in the cabin. Debbie was either asleep or had gone to Wyatt's cabin. Sutton would be able to fall asleep in peace.

But, no--when she turned the extra key in the door and flipped the light switch on, she was greeted with a surprised shriek from Debbie and the sight of Wyatt leaning over her in his underwear.

"Jesus--fucking--shit," Sutton said, shielding her eyes as she backed out of the room. She shut the door on Wyatt and Debbie and huffed into the night, listening to Debbie collapse into awkward giggles back inside the cabin.

She would have to wait it out. There was no way she'd go searching out Javi to ask if she could stay in his room. Resigning herself to feeling like an undergrad again, she plopped down on the grass a few feet away from the cabin--she was so not going to risk hearing them at it--and kept company with her tired, tipsy thoughts.

About ten minutes later, Ada came walking along the footbridge, using her own cell phone for light. Sutton watched her, a dark figure gliding along in the night, as graceful as she had always been--the result of years of ballet at her grandmother's insistence.

"Hey," Sutton called to her.

Ada startled. She shone her light in Sutton's direction and let out a relieved sigh when she spotted her. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice tired.

"Debbie and Wyatt have taken over our cabin."

"Seriously? How long have they been in there?"

"I'm guessing since they left the campfire."

"Jesus."

"I know."

Ada stood in silence, her cell phone falling to her side. The light from it went off, leaving them in summer darkness.

"You might as well come sit with me," Sutton said.

She wondered if Ada had heard her, for there was no response or movement from Ada's tall, lean form. But then:

"I guess I can suffer sitting next to you for a few minutes."

Sutton didn't have to see her expression to know Ada was teasing.

Ada settled down next to her, bending gracefully onto the grass. For one lightning-hot moment, her right knee touched Sutton's left--but then she shifted away.

They sat without talking, and at first it was awkward, but then it started to feel normal.

The silence between them wasn't pressing. It wasn't the kind of silence that begged to be broken. Sutton remembered something her dad used to say when she was growing up:

If you can be around someone and feel no pressure to talk, you've found yourself a goddamn friend.

The problem was there was so much talking they should have been doing. They could have sat there in the grass for hours untangling everything that had happened between them in the past.

"I'm sorry," Sutton said. It came out of her mouth almost like a cough, sudden and grating.

Ada looked at her in the darkness. Sutton couldn't see her eyes, but her memory filled in the image for her: Ada's brown irises searching her, feeling her out, wondering if she could trust her.

"I shouldn't have said anything about your parents," Sutton clarified. "You were right--I was inserting myself."

"It's alright."

"I just--I guess I wondered why you didn't give them the easy explanation."

Ada turned away. She was quiet for a moment, picking at the grass. "There is no easy explanation," she said. "There never has been. I know you like to categorize everything, but that's not how it is."

Sutton felt the past reaching for her, pulling at her stomach. "I've gotten better at that," she said quietly. "I've stopped categorizing so much."

Now Ada looked at her again. Sutton could imagine her piercing stare. It was too much.

"Um," Sutton said, clearing her throat. "So--want to guess what I saw with Wyatt and Debbie?"

Ada took a second--Sutton sensed that she didn't want to let the current topic go--but then she laughed. "Did you actually walk in on them?"

"Yes."

"Were they both naked?"

"No."

"Debbie was naked."

"No."

"Wyatt was naked?"

"Mostly."

"He still had his boxers on?"

Sutton started to laugh. "They weren't boxers."

"Oh my god, no--were they briefs?"

"Yes! Tighty-whities!"

"He's a tighty-whities guy? Oh my god, we so should have known."

"But get this: they were salmon colored."

"No."

"Yes. They were, like, pinkish-orangey!"

"Shut up, that's too good."

"I know. I wish I'd had the presence of mind to take a picture."

"Remember when we caught your brother's friend Rip in his underwear? That one Saturday morning?"

"Are you kidding? Of course I remember. You wouldn't stop talking about it for, like, a year."

"He had an amazing body. And it's not like those boxer-briefs were able to hide his God-given beauty."

Sutton laughed through her nose. "Yeah, well, I'm glad one of us could appreciate that."

Ada fell silent again. Sutton's stomach contracted; she shouldn't have said that. It was exactly the thing she had been trying to avoid.

After a minute, Ada spoke again.

"So--are you, like, out now?"

Sutton shifted on the grass, digging her palms into the dirt. She still wasn't ready for this conversation, but she probably never would be. "Depends on what you mean by 'out,' I guess," she muttered. "My dad has this absurd notion of it. Like it's some absolute, total thing. The past couple of years, he's always been like, 'Well, when you're completely out...' and I'm always like, 'What does that even mean?' Because it's not, like--I mean, I can't just walk around with a sign hanging around my neck. Even here, with this new job--do I tell them? Am I lying by omission if I don't say anything?"

"You don't owe an explanation to anyone."

"I know. But it's hard. Am I denying a part of myself by not being upfront and truthful about it?"

Ada was quiet. She drew her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. "Did you know?" she asked. "When we were in high school? You knew for sure?"

Sutton allowed a beat to pass between them, testing the words on her tongue. "You know I did," she said, her voice betraying emotion.

It was too much to say, and yet it wasn't enough.

They fell back into silence, and this time it was pressing.

Wyatt trailed out of the cabin a few minutes after that. He had donned his clothes again and was stepping lightly on the ground, his cell phone shining.

"Have fun?" Sutton called to him.

He looked around, startled. "Hey. Sorry about that."

"Don't make me report you to Human Resources."

Wyatt said nothing.

"I'm kidding," Sutton clarified.

"Oh." Wyatt fake chuckled. "Right. Er--see you in the morning."

He ambled off like a dog with its tail between its legs. Sutton and Ada watched him pad over the bridge and down toward the other cabins before they moved.

"Do you think Debbie will want to talk about it?" Sutton asked.

She said it to test their dynamic, to see how fragile or resilient their conversation had become. It felt like she and Ada were playing a game of Jenga, but with two sets of wooden blocks: one they were building into a tower, stacking each piece self-consciously, watching the other's turn like the whole thing might be a sham; the other they were taking apart, touching each block like it might burn them, wondering when the stack was going to collapse on them at last.

Sutton didn't know how Ada would respond, or even if she would. Maybe their conversation had become too delicate.

But Ada sighed and said, "I will fake deafness if Debbie tries to talk right now."

Sutton breathed. "So you'll leave me to deal with her?"

"Exactly."

"I'll fake deafness, too."

But they stepped quietly into the cabin, and to their relief, Debbie was asleep.

It's March of their eighth grade year and Bailey won't shut up about Ryan Peebles. She's lying on her back on her basement carpet, with Jessie sitting cross-legged next to her, and talking through the Britney Spears song playing through the stereo system.

"He's so much cooler than the other guys in our grade," she sighs, flapping her arms down onto the carpet. "I just want the dance to get here so we can slow dance together."

"How do you know he'll ask you to?" Ada says, and Sutton grimaces. Ada doesn't mean to sound critical--she asks questions like this with a genuine curiosity for the answer--but Bailey bristles. She shifts her head on the carpet to stare Ada down.

"It's obviously not a guarantee," she says, like Ada is stupid. "But I believe in wishing for things I want."

Ada sucks on the green apple blow pop in her mouth, unfazed by Bailey's tone. She shoots Sutton a look that means she thinks Bailey is annoying. They've talked about it before, and Sutton knows Ada only puts up with Bailey because Sutton has been friends with her since kindergarten. But Sutton doesn't want to acknowledge Ada's look--Bailey might see her--so she gets up from the carpet to change the CD in the stereo. She finds the Wilson Phillips CD Jessie's mom gave them--the one they've been listening to since Christmas--and inserts it into the CD drive.

"I can't wait for high school," Ada says from her spot on the carpet.

Jessie looks up from the magazine in her lap. "Why?"

"There will be so many new people. Our grade will be so much bigger. Maybe there will be mature boys who might actually like me--"

"Don't count on it," Bailey cuts in. "Not many black boys go to Southdowns."

Ada's face falls. Sutton watches from where she stands at the stereo, her heart in her throat.

"They don't have to be black," Ada says, her voice confused. "I like white boys, too."

"Yeah," Bailey says in a lofty voice, "but you'd probably have an actual chance with black boys. I think the boys in our grade are scared of you."

Jessie stares at Bailey, her jaw jutting out. Sutton stares at her, too, unable to believe how ignorant and cruel she can be.

And Ada, her posture crumpling, blinks angry tears out of her eyes.

Sutton's stomach punctures.

"You know, Bailey," Sutton says, surprised to hear her own voice, not to mention how acidic it sounds, "you're really not one to talk about boys. Maybe you should get a different face first. Or just wear a flour sack over your head so they won't have to look at you."

Now Bailey crumples, mortified, and Jessie gawps at Sutton like she doesn't know who she is, but Ada's eyes find her, and Sutton's heart beats and beats and beats.

They get sent home. Bailey's mom sequesters them in the guest bedroom while she calls Sutton's house, and Sutton hears every word of the furious phone conversation while she and Ada sit in silence.

Sutton's mom doesn't ask any questions when she picks them up. It's out of character for her. Normally she's hyperaware of social manners and how her family is perceived, but tonight she brings them tumblers of Coca-Cola and plays Delilah's radio show on B98.5 while they drive away from Bailey's house.

Sutton is surprised when her mom drives them to Ada's house, but her mom shimmies them out of the car without explaining. They step through the garage and into Ada's kitchen, and there is Mrs. Cosgrove, springing up anxiously from the kitchen table, tucking her robe around her nightgown.

"What happened?" Mrs. Cosgrove asks, and Ada starts to cry. The sound pushes out of her throat like a ringing shout, too loud and too raw, and Sutton is almost embarrassed.

Sutton wants to explain for both of them, but she knows it's Ada's to share. So she waits, hovering next to her own mom, still wondering how the fallout from tonight will go.

When Ada finally chokes through her explanation, Mrs. Cosgrove submits to a look of pain Sutton hasn't seen on a mom before. It's an expectant look. Like Mrs. Cosgrove can't allow herself to feel the rawness of it, because she knows it will happen again and she has to ration out her response.

But it's an expression of pain nonetheless, and Sutton's throat is thick.

The funny thing is, when Ada tells her mom what Sutton said to Bailey, Sutton's own mom bursts out laughing. It happens quickly and uncontrollably, like a hiccup, until Sutton's mom claps a hand over her mouth, seeming surprised at herself.

"Mom--" Sutton says, shocked and, for some reason, giddy.

But Mrs. Cosgrove starts to laugh, too, a guilty laugh like she knows she shouldn't be doing it, and Sutton stares into Ada's red, wet eyes, silently asking if they are really witnessing this weird behavior from their moms.

Sutton and Ada's moms never explain themselves. Instead, Ada's mom pulls Sutton into her arms and holds her there, next to Ada, promising to make them a batch of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

Sutton's mom kisses her on the head and leaves her there to spend the night, and Sutton and Ada stay up late watching Bring It On while they eat a half-dozen cookies each.

Sutton falls asleep just before the end of the movie. When she wakes in the middle of the night, disoriented and needing to pee, Ada's arm is wrapped around her.