“No, Alison,” I said quietly. “We have not.”
“We’ve been friends for twenty years.”
The room behind her had gone still, and every face was turning toward us now.
I yanked my arm free and faced her squarely.
A few former classmates drifted closer, sensing the shift in the room.
“Why, Alison?” I asked. “Just tell me the truth.”
Her composure cracked.
The pale, panicked friend disappeared, and something colder took her place.
“Just tell me the truth.”
“Because look at you,” she hissed. “You think you can just walk in here like you belong?”
“I do belong.”
“No, you don’t.” Her voice trembled with something uglier than anger. “You were the girl I sat next to. The one I defended. That was the deal.”
“The deal?” I repeated.
“You heard me,” Alison said. “I made you feel human when nobody else would. And what did you do? You got skinny. You got rich. You opened that stupid studio.”
