one else. Not Natalia (“I actually think Becca was looking for you,” says Katie-Rose). Not Becca (“Natalia’s over there. She’s, ah, been looking for you,” says Milla, softening the lie with a smile). And not Hayley.

“We’re kind of in the middle of something,” Violet tells her, fiddling with the plastic zipper on her ziplock sandwich bag. She doesn’t meet Hayley’s eyes. Neither does Yasaman, Milla notices. Milla herself does look at Hayley, but Hayley doesn’t look back at her. Hayley is focused entirely on Violet, as if she’s trying to unpeel her with her eyes.

“Um, okay,” Hayley says. “No big.”

She walks away and finds somewhere else to sit. Katie-Rose couldn’t care less, based on her cheerful demeanor. But Violet and Yaz … Something is up with them. Yaz looks—well, surely Milla is wrong, but Yaz looks on the verge of tears. And Violet? Who turned Hayley away even though all along she’s been the nicest to Hayley? Violet’s mouth is a grim line, and her cheeks are flushed. Not just her cheeks. Her whole face.

What’s going on? Milla wonders. What just happened???

“So, my friends, watch and be amazed,” Katie-Rose says as she unpacks a tribe of teensy hedgehogs and sets them on the table.

One teensy-weensy hedgehog perches on the edge of the table. Two teensy-weensy hedgehogs perch on the edge of the table. Three teensy-weensy hedgehogs perch on the edge of the table.

“Whoa,” Yaz says when Katie-Rose has unpacked six teensy-weensy hedgehogs. Six hedgehogs and no sign yet of stopping.

“That’s a lot of hedgehogs,” Violet says.

“Yup,” Katie-Rose says, and a childhood memory of watching Sesame Street floats into Milla’s mind. She thinks of the Count, the purple Muppet dressed in black, with pointy fangs and a love for arithmomania, which for the Count just meant counting things.

He counted his teeth: “One teeth! Two teeth! Why do I have no more teeths?”

He counted potatoes: “One po-tay-toe, two po-tay-toes, three po-tay-toes, four! Five po-tay-toes, six po-tay-toes, seven po-tay-toes, more!”

Once, on a tiny little island, the Count counted coconuts. Another time, he counted cupcakes. Another time, he counted apples. “One! One apple! Two! Two apples! Three! Three apples! Yes! Yes, three apples!” And then his trademark laugh, which wasn’t a hah but an ah, as Milla remembers it: “Three apples! Ah ah ah!” But then Cookie Monster stole one of the apples and gobbled it down, and the Count had to start his counting all over again.

Katie-Rose reaches nine hedgehogs, and Milla thinks, Nine! Nine hedgehogs! Ah ah ah!

That has to be all of them, or almost all of them. How many hedgehogs were in that lumpy bag of Preston’s?!

“Why is everyone staring at me?” Katie-Rose says, though she knows perfectly well. She pulls out a tenth hedgehog and sets it on the table with the other nine. Milla wonders which is the first hedgehog Preston gave her, last night at the Olive Garden. She wonders if Katie-Rose even has an inkling that Preston is the hedgehog giver.

“What are their names?” Yaz asks.

“The hedgehogs?” Katie-Rose says. She beams. She goes down the line of hedgehogs, patting each one on the head and saying, “Mona Bubbles, Mona Bubbles, Mona Bubbles.” Ten times she says, “Mona Bubbles.”

“They’re all named Mona Bubbles?” Violet says.

“Yiperee, Bob!” Again she pats her bitsies on their heads. “Isn’t that right, Mona Bubbles? Mona Bubbles, Mona Bubbles, Mona—”

“We get it,” Milla says. She isn’t mad at Katie-Rose anymore, but she isn’t in the mood to let her go on and on, either.

“Why?” Violet says.

“Well, I will tell you,” Katie-Rose says, in a special “important” voice she reserves for certain situations. A voice that implies, AND NOW I WILL BE SPEAKING OF IMPORTANT-NESS, AND I WILL DO SO FOR QUITE A WHILE, AND THERE WILL UNDOUBTEDLY BE SIDETRACKS. BUT THEY, TOO, ARE MADE OF IMPORTANT-NESS!

“The reason they are all named ‘Mona Bubbles’ is three-pronged,” Katie-Rose begins.

“Like a fork?” Violet says.

“A fork,” Yaz says. “Ha.” She smiles at Violet, but it’s an odd smile. A trying-too-hard smile?

There’s something going on between Yaz and Violet, Milla realizes. She wonders what it is.

“Yes, like a fork,” Katie-Rose says irritably. “Now, if you’ll be so kind as to let me continue—”

“Right, sorry,” Yaz says. She looks several tables over. “Only, why is …?” She cuts herself off.

“What?” Milla says. She cranes her neck and spots Modessa and Quin at a table about five yards away. Hayley is with them. Okay, obviously Hayley went to them when Violet sent her away.

But Elena is sitting at a separate table all by herself. Well, there are two fourth graders at the far end of Elena’s table, but they’re not talking to Elena, and Elena’s not talking to them.

“That’s weird,” Milla says.

“Does anyone want to hear about my three-pronged reason for naming my hedgehogs?” Katie-Rose says. “Anyone at all?”

Violet’s eyes are hollow. She’s gazing at Elena, too. Or possibly Hayley.

As for Yasaman, she’s gazing at Violet. She looks miserable, and her chicken shawarma sits untouched.

“Maybe you could tell us later, Katie-Rose.” she says. “I think we’re all a little distracted. Right, Violet?”

Violet doesn’t hear her. Either that or she decides not to respond.

“Violet?” Milla prods.

“Huh?” She comes back alive inside her eyes. “What? Sorry. Um—yeah. Yeah, sure.” She pauses. “What am I saying ‘yes’ to?”

“Nothing,” Yaz says, casting down her eyes.

Violet knits her eyebrows.

Katie-Rose scowls.

Milla jumps in, saying, “Yaz was just suggesting that we hear about all the Mona Bubbles another time. She wanted to know if that was okay with you, Violet.”

“Sure,” Violet says. “Whatever Yaz wants.”