Stella stood outside a three-story town house on Seventieth Street, feeling like the eggs she had for breakfast might make a second appearance. She’d called Myra five times this morning, but she’d refused to pick up. Myra was Stella’s first real friend in New York—the first one who wasn’t related to her, at least. She was the only person Stella had told about her dad and Cloud McClean, and the only person Stella knew at school whom she hadn’t met through Cate. She couldn’t lose her over Blythe’s bloody challenge.
Stella pressed down on the doorbell, her fingers trembling. After she’d finished cleaning the guest bathrooms (holding her nose the entire time), she’d gone shopping at the Manhattan Mall, a place she’d found through a Google search. She was now wearing a denim skirt, Myra’s signature rainbow knee-highs, and a HOW’S MY DERIVING? tee. She’d even bought a sweater for Myra’s ferret, Pythagoras, as an I’m sorry present (technically it was made for toy poodles, but she hoped it would do). It was a little extreme, but she needed to show Myra that she didn’t care about what she wore—Stella cared about who she was. And she wanted to be friends with her, no matter what.
The front door swung open and Myra appeared, her blond hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her eyes were still a little swollen from the night before. Seeing Stella’s outfit, she started to close the door. “Myra—wait!” Stella cried, catching it before it could shut. “Please?”
Myra crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you doing here?” She looked both ways down Seventieth Street, as though she were expecting to see Cate hiding behind her neighbor’s garbage can. “Is this some sort of joke?”
“No,” Stella said, pointing to her outfit. “These are my new socks and this my new T-shirt.” She studied Myra’s face, but her amber eyes revealed nothing. “I was planning on wearing them to school tomorrow. And the next day…until you forgive me.”
Stella waited for Myra to smile, or laugh, but she didn’t. Instead she tapped her foot, her clog keeping time like a metronome. “I can’t forgive you if you don’t apologize,” she said finally.
“I was getting to that.” Stella twisted one hand in the other, wringing it like a wet towel. She’d spent the entire walk to Myra’s house rehearsing what she’d say, but now everything seemed inadequate. If Myra didn’t want to be friends with her anymore, she couldn’t argue, or convince herself Myra was overreacting. Because she knew that whatever happened—even if Myra threw a clog in her face—she deserved it. “I’m sorry, Myra, I am. And this is the only way I knew how to show you. I don’t care about the stupid makeover, or if you wear your EASY AS π T-shirt every day for the rest of your life. Maybe things started with Blythe’s challenge, but I’m lucky we became friends. You’re smart, and funny, and…the best person I’ve met since I’ve been in New York.”
Myra’s face softened. “Do you really mean that?”
“More than anything. Here,” Stella pulled the ferret-size present from her Marc Jacobs bag and pressed it into Myra’s hands. “I bought this for Pythagoras.”
Myra opened the box and held up the miniature argyle sweater. Stella had thought it was perfect for a ferret with a math-inspired nickname. For the first time since the incident yesterday, Myra smiled. “Thanks.” She looked at Stella’s outfit and let out a small laugh. “You’re really going to wear that to school tomorrow?”
“I will if you want me to,” Stella offered. She would’ve worn it for the entire year. Being popular seemed pointless now. She’d been popular in London, and all she had to show for it were two “best mates” who hadn’t rung her once since she’d been in New York. Not to see how her mum’s wedding was, or to hear about her first day at her new school. Not even to confirm that she hadn’t gotten run over by a cab.
Myra shook her head. “That would be funny, but it’s not necessary.” She looked Stella in the eye, suddenly serious. “I can’t be the third member of Chi Sigma, though. And I definitely can’t be Cate Sloane’s best friend. It’s just not me.” She straightened up, but her face still looked sad. “Besides, you spend every minute with her. I just don’t see how this would work.”
Stella let out a deep breath. Cate was her stepsister. It wasn’t like she could avoid hanging out with her…even if she wanted to. But the reality was, right now they could hardly be considered friends. Cate had only said two words to her all morning: Plastic bag? she’d asked, tossing Stella one. Stella knew Cate was mad she’d abandoned the party, but she’d been upset about Myra. The last thing she’d wanted to do after their fight was field questions from Ashton News.
Stella and Cate both couldn’t stand the headmistress’s high-pitched voice. They both laughed at the way Winston hummed Sinatra whenever he thought he was in a room alone. And they both loved an afternoon of shopping on Madison Avenue, trying on dresses that would only be appropriate for an art auction at Sotheby’s.
But lately it felt like they were too different. Yes, Cate had liked Myra. But it was only because she was a way to prove to Blythe that they were just as much of a sorority as Beta Sigma Phi. Stella liked Myra for who she was—the person who thought Cloud McClean was a blue-haired eleventh-grader. Stella tugged on a blond curl, her decision made. “I don’t need to spend every minute with Cate,” she said. “I just need you—to be my friend.”
Myra stepped out of the doorway and put her tiny arms around Stella. It wasn’t her usual, rib cage-breaking hug, but it was enough to squeeze tears into Stella’s eyes. “I still am,” she said quietly.