Cassie
By Monday morning, I had changed my outfit four times.
Not because I cared what Rachel thought.
Okay, that was a lie.
I cared very much what Rachel thought.
“This one,” Sophia said from my doorway.
I looked down at the navy pants and cream blouse. “You said that two outfits ago.”
“That was before you put this one on.”
“What was wrong with the green dress?”
“Nothing.”
“The black pants?”
“Also nothing.”
“Then why am I changing?”
“Because you’re panicking and apparently I’m participating.”
I pointed at her. “You’re supposed to stop me.”
“I tried. You threatened me with a shoe.”
“It was a flat.”
“Violence is violence.”
I laughed despite the knot in my stomach.
Rachel had called this a meeting.
A meeting.
Not an interview.
I had repeated that to myself approximately
