What the hell is wrong with people?” Brainzilla wails once we’re behind closed doors. She, Eggy, and I are crammed into the handicap stall of the girls’ bathroom. I put down a huge mass of paper towels all over the toilet, just in case anyone needs to sit down. Flatso stands in front of the locked stall door to make double sure nobody comes in.
“Oh, Zilla,” Eggy says, pulling her close. Brainzilla’s tears leak onto Eggy’s shoulder. Eggy’s tears pour into Brainzilla’s hair. My tears spill down my face and fall into my lap. (Yes, I’m the one sitting on the toilet.) And Flatso’s tears trickle straight into the corners of her mouth.
“My nose is pouring snot all over your sweater,” Brainzilla says.
“I love snot,” Eggy swears.
Brainzilla holds out her hand to me, and I squeeze it. She has a massively swelling eye, and her hands are shaking. I press her fingers to my cheek. “People have been mean to me before,” she says. “But I’ve never been—attacked.” She gulps for air, and her tears start to flow again.