got “Mitra!” Kinza exclaimed, a mixture of emotion welling up inside of her. She took a step forward but immediately backpaddled when Mitra stalked toward her, seething with anger.
“This is not happening,” she said, dropping the vacuum and rags. “I am not seeing my best friend who fell off the face of the earth, with some punk”—the punk in question took a safe step backward—“after she didn’t answer a single one of my texts!” Kinza had seen Mitra angry on several occasions, over dumb boys, rude people on the street, or when the gas station was out of Hot Cheetos. She claimed it was because she was an Aries, but Kinza knew that Mitra just liked to get riled up; she was rarely ever truly angry. But right now, Mitra looked like she wanted to chop her into bitty pieces and the back of Kinza’s
