“You shouldn’t encourage him,” Plum told Sofia as they dragged their bags down the upstairs hallway.
“Stop judging me.” Sofia’s voice was friendly yet held an unmistakable note of back off.
“I’m just saying,” Plum muttered.
Plum didn’t have to watch him play to know that he’d be one of those guys who yelled insults at his friends and enemies alike. That he’d probably be the type to deliberately wreck someone’s painstakingly built base or shoot an ally just because he thought it was funny.
Total edgelord vibe.
Sofia turned and raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry,” Plum muttered. “Sorry. I love you. I just think, maybe he’s a jerk? What about Louis?”
“It’s not your job to worry about Louis. Or to say that I did anything wrong.” Sofia propped her hands on her hips and stared at Plum. Hard.
Sometimes it was like Sofia—happy, sometimes anxious, generous, loving Sofia—was ready to rebel about anything. The dutiful daughter, the best friend, the good girl . . . it was as if she was frustrated about something, but she’d never talk about it.
Maybe she felt the same green, growy feeling inside that Plum did. The same restlessness.
But now it was spilling out of her friend, directly onto Plum.
Plum couldn’t stand it when anyone was angry with her. Not that she had to make everyone happy, but she couldn’t take it when people were mad at her. It felt like something burrowing under her skin, digging into her heart, trying to make her cry.
And if it was someone she really loved? Like her parents? Or Marlowe and Sofia?
Forget it.
“I’m sorry,” Plum said. “I care about you.”
“I’m fine,” Sofia said. Then she smiled at Plum a little. “It’s okay. Just . . . stop trying to tell me what to do.”
“Good luck with that,” Marlowe drawled, but she leaned into Plum’s shoulder, a gentle bump of affection.
“I know I do that!” Plum cried. “I don’t like it either!”
Sofia looked up at Plum and gave her a cockeyed smile. “Then stop.”
Marlowe leaned over the opposite way and dipped her knees slightly to give Sofia’s shoulder the same affectionate bump. “I’ve got it!” Marlowe pointed a finger at Plum. “She’ll stop telling you what to do when you”—she pointed a finger at Sofia—“stop being such an incorrigible flirt.”
Sofia shook her head, but she was laughing. “Seriously, stop flirt-shaming me!” She crossed her arms. “Louis likes it when I flirt.”
“Sure,” Marlowe said. “When you’re flirting with him.”
Sofia made a grunt of frustration. “Like you’re perfect.” But then Sofia leaned against Plum’s shoulder. “Isn’t she, Plum? Just perfect.”
Plum felt a warm bubble of happiness rise in her heart at the shoulder lean. Forgiven.
“Yeah. What she said.” Plum crossed her arms and leaned right back into Sofia. Well, a little. She was almost a foot taller, after all.
“You two.” Marlowe shook her head.
“You love us,” Sofia replied. She kissed the air.
Marlowe laughed. “Always.”
“Me too,” Plum said.
“Forever,” Sofia agreed. “Now, let’s check out the rooms.”