I was right. Gina is mad, and she's staying mad. I haven't heard from her since Thursday night when she was trying to get me to switch back to sewing. Usually she and I spend our whole weekends together, but this past weekend, all I did was sit at home and watch TV. She did this same thing for a week in 8th grade when we had our last big fight. She claimed to be sick every lunch period so that she could eat in the nurse's office. I had to sit by myself at lunch then, just like I've been sitting by myself now. I can only assume what is happening today will continue to happen all week until Gina decides to forgive me.

Today is day 4 without speaking.

I don't know where she's been eating or what she's been doing, since we don't have any classes together and the high school is far too big to go looking around for her. No, this time it's just the silent treatment, and I'm not sure what else to do but try my best with my classes and do my best in rehearsals with Thatcher for our ten-minute play. He was very patient with me today and last Friday, but I'm not getting the lines as quickly as I probably should. I'm afraid I'm letting him down. I'm pretty sure Patti and Moth already have theirs fully blocked and memorized. Thatcher got stuck with the dumb partner.

I'm about to text Gina for about the fiftieth time to ask where she is when Patti comes over with her tray. "Are you eating alone?" she asks before sitting down at the empty end of the lunch table with me.

I nod, a mouthful of salad stopping me from answering.

"Mind if I sit with you?" she asks. "I usually eat alone too."

I swallow my food. "No, come sit."

She smiles and takes the seat across from me where Gina usually sits. If Gina saw this, she would be furious, but I'm not worried, since I'm 99% positive she is in the nurse's office or something right now.

Patti opens her milk carton and takes a sip. "So, tell me about yourself, Janie."

"Like what?"

"Like what you're interested in, where you're from, what are your favorite things, why did you decide to take theater? That kind of stuff."

"Um, I don't know," I say, shrugging. I don't like talking about myself much. "You go first," I say.

"Okay," Patti says happily. "Well, I was born here. My parents met during their high school play, and have loved theater ever since. My mom is a financial advisor, and my dad works at Central High as a tech theater teacher." I look at her in confusion. "Tech theater is like building the sets and setting up the lights and doing all the music cues and all that stuff. So anyway, when I was born they named me after Patti LuPone, who is, like, one of the greatest Broadway stars of all time if you've never heard of her or seen any of her movies. I've been singing and dancing and acting since I was a baby, so it's basically in my blood. When I grow up, I want to be on Broadway, for sure. I take a lot of classes outside of school, like dance--ballet, jazz, tap--and acting. I take private voice lessons too. I'm pretty busy, but that's what you do for your dreams, right? You work hard. Okay, so now tell me about yourself."

Ugh, I think. I was hoping Patti's life story would take longer than that. I bite my lip to think about what I want to tell her.

"I don't really know, like... where to start."

"Any brothers or sisters?" Patti asks, taking a bite of her packed egg salad sandwich.

"Nope, I'm an only child."

"Me too. Hm, ok... so, why theater?"

I groan. "You really know how to ask the tough questions, huh?"

"Sorry, was that a tough question?"

I laugh. "For me, yes. For normal people, no."

"I'm sorry. I guess that's why I don't have too many friends."

She says this so plainly, so matter-of-factly that I'm tempted to laugh. But this doesn't seem like an appropriate time for that.

"My grades were super low, so Mrs. Thomas suggested I join theater to help me with my confidence and get my grades up."

"Oh. Well, it will be an A for you as long as you keep it up. Do you think you'll take theater next quarter too?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I feel like I'm not being much help. Should I?"

"Oh yeah," she says, "After next quarter you get to be the leads in the evening shows and the musical, and if I, or you, want to get into a good college for theater, we're going to need to get the leads instead of Layla. She, I would say, is my biggest competition. You'll see that when we perform the scenes. I hate to say it, but she's pretty good. I hate her for it."

She chomps on a carrot stick that's been waiting in a Tupperware container that looks like it was meant specifically for that carrot, and I smile. This side of Patti is funny to see.

"Anyway," she says between chews, "I hope you're okay with me putting you in a scene with Thatcher. He's a little strange, but he's a great actor. He's probably the best boy in the whole class."

"I know, he was in my English class last year," I say. "He read the part of Romeo."

"Oh my word, isn't he wonderful as Romeo? He did one of Romeo's monologues in class last year. We had a monologue assignment, and we all had to prepare for it. Do you know what a monologue is?"

I shake my head.

"It's like a little speech that only one person says. Anyway, Thatcher did a monologue from that play, and oh my word, it was amazing. I had chills, no joke."

"I almost cried when he read the last scene in class," I admit. Patti's opened up a lot to me this lunch. Admitting that I almost cried when Thatcher read the scene is the least I can do.

"I believe it. Well, I'm glad you're okay with working with him." She smiles and leans toward me from across the table. She holds her hand up to her mouth to whisper. "I have a crush on Timothy, so I wanted to work with him."

I don't know what to say to her, so all I do is smile blankly in shock. I feel like my face probably looks like Patti's does most of the time. This seems so strange to me for a few reasons.

The first is simple: Why? I mean, I know Moth is cute--there's no denying that--but there's not much else going on there.

Second, Patti and Moth are so different. Patti, from what I know about her so far, is motivated and cheery and a little odd. Moth is... well, to be honest, I don't know much about him except that he is a stoner. Maybe I should get to know him a little more before completely writing him off, I think, but then again, I don't want to end up making excuses for Moth. Drug use is drug use is drug use.

And finally, are Patti and I even close enough to be sharing secrets already? Sure, we've known each other for about a week now, but I thought it took time for people to open up. Maybe not theater people, I think.

"I'm thinking of asking him to the Snow Ball dance. Since it's Sadie Hawkins and all," Patti whispers. "Don't say anything."

"I won't," I tell her, and I really mean it. I'm speechless enough as it is.

The teacher on duty calls out for us to clean up our trays, so we do before the bell rings for us to continue through our day.

All I can think about the rest of the day is how easily Patti opened up to me and how angry Gina must be to not even text me about her absence at lunch. You'd think she would at least mention it to really make sure I'm feeling guilty about it, but nothing.

It's all I can think of the whole walk home as I stare at my phone, going between my old texts with Gina and Facebook. She hasn't posted anything. Not on her Facebook or her Instagram or her Snapchat story. Nothing. Is she really that mad at me? That's when I get a message over Messenger.

"Hey," Thatcher Gorsky says. I wasn't expecting it to be him. I remove my fingers from my gloves to type.

"Hey," I reply.

"What's up?" he asks.

"Walking home," I type as the snow crunches beneath my boots. My cheeks must be so red from the cold, because I can barely feel them. At least I'm almost home. Just another couple of blocks. "You?"

"Nothing. Just thinking about our scene."

"Oh ok."

"Do you want to practice sometime after school? I think it would be good since we go kind of slow during class."

That last comment stings. I want to be offended that he wrote that, but I'm most upset that he's echoing exactly what I've been thinking.

"Sorry," is all I can think to say.

"No, it's ok. I didn't mean it like that," he types. "I just thought it would be good to practice more."

"Sure," I say. "I don't do much after school so whenever is fine with me." His profile picture with the screaming guy and robotic-looking bug stares at me. I smile to myself and decide for my own health to change the subject. "What's with your profile pic?"

"I'm a huge fan of Starship Troopers," he replies.

"What is that?"

"It's a movie!! It's great!"

"I've never seen it."

For a long while all I see are those three little dots, and then: "I don't even know what to say to that except that we must fix this immediately."

"That's not really my type of movie. I like romance and mystery."

"Nonsense. Starship Troopers has it all!"

I laugh before I notice that my reading hasn't slowed me down much this conversation. The words are all pushed together, sure, and some of the words are even mixed up; but I'm laughing. I want to read when I'm talking to my friends. Is Thatcher becoming one of my friends now too?

"Just give it a chance," he pleads.

"Ok," I reply. "If you say so."

I look up from the screen to pass a guy walking his dog on the sidewalk. Then I get back to trudging through the snow to get home. Just a few more houses down the street and then I'll be at our little green house. It's brick, really, but before we bought it, someone painted it dark green. It's one of those thin, old school townhouses that were built in 1900 or sometime around then. We don't have a front yard or anything, just a little stoop where four stairs lead up to our front door. That's why it's so easy for me to see Gina standing there, sitting up on the black metal railing by the door.

My phone buzzes. I don't read what Thatcher has written, because I don't want Gina to think I'm blowing her off. She's already spotted me and is making eye contact with me as she slides off the railing to stand. I turn the screen off and shove my phone into my coat pocket.

"Hey," I say once I'm close enough.

"Hey." Her arms are crossed in front of her, despite being covered in puffy coat sleeves.

"Where have you been?" I ask.

She bites her lip. "I just needed some space."

"In the nurse's office?"

She sucks her teeth. "No. I went to fourth floor lunch."

Oh right, I always forget how huge our high school is and that there are three floors for lunch. Gina and I usually sit on the fifth floor, since it's where my next class and her class just before lunch are. She's been going out of her way to be away from me.

"Oh," I say. She stares at me in silence, though she looks annoyed by my presence... in front of my house. I know what she is waiting for. "I'm sorry Gina. I know it was important to you for us to have class together."

"Important to us," she corrects me.

"To us, yeah. I'm sorry."

She takes a deep breath and it escapes her with a smoky mist. "It's okay. Just promise me something."

"What?"

"Don't stop being my friend."

I laugh. "I won't, you're my best friend."

"Yeah, but you're going to meet more people. New people. Like, who was that you were smiling and texting?" She holds up her phone from her pocket and shakes it back and forth. "It wasn't me."

"It was one of the people from my theater class," I admit, "but he only wanted to set up a time for us to get together to practice."

She smiles. "Hold up. Are you saying that you were talking to a boy?"

My face feels hot against the cold breeze and my lips leak a smile. "He's just from theater."

"But it's a he," she says, nudging me.

"He's not even cute," I say, opening my door to go inside.

"Whatever, we can fix that," Gina jokes as we go into my house. "Half of a guy's attractiveness is based on presentation."

I laugh and lead her inside.

"Hey Janie, welcome home. Oh, hi Gina. I didn't know you were coming over," Mom says from the living room, where she's watching her afternoon TV shows before she usually starts dinner. "You girls get started on your homework, ok?"

"Yes, Mom. That's the plan," I say.

Gina and I sit together at my dining room table and do our homework, while we joke around about teachers and assignments and whether or not Holden Caufield is hot. It's like no time has passed without us talking at all. With Gina there, I feel like I can actually do my work. She reads to me and helps me understand what's going on, especially in Catcher in the Rye. It's like we're back in elementary school when Gina was my personal assistant. It would be nice to have a class with her again, I think. If only she weren't so much smarter than me, then I could actually be in the honors courses she's taking. So it's both of our faults we never see each other at school anymore, I think, but I don't dare say that to her, especially since we seem to be cool now. I also don't admit that I wish now more than ever that we had at least one class together.

Mom invites her to stay for dinner, and after that, her older brother picks her up. I help Mom with the dishes and try not to see her mild disappointment that Gina and I seem to be getting along again,—Mom doesn't like her much—I go upstairs to my room to get ready for bed.

I haven't checked my phone at all since my conversation with Thatcher earlier was cut off, so after my shower, I brush my teeth and check back in to Messenger as I move the toothbrush over my teeth.

Thatcher Gorsky: Maybe we could get together tonight? We could practice the scene and then I could introduce you once and for all to the wonder that is Starship Troopers. You could come here if you want? (3:41pm)

Thatcher Gorsky: Or another night this week if that works better for you? I mean, I do have the DVDs. (3:43pm)

Thatcher Gorsky: It's okay too if you don't want to watch the movie. I get it, I'm kind of a nerd about them. We could just practice the scene. (3:46pm)

Thatcher Gorsky: I don't know if you're busy or if I creeped you out. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be weird. See you tomorrow in class. (4:02pm)

I check the time on my phone. 9:37pm. I spit out the toothpaste.

Oh goodness, I went about six hours without responding to him. He probably thinks I'm super weirded out or something, but what do I say now? I start with, "Sorry! My friend came over to do homework and hangout. You didn't creep me out. See you tomorrow!"

I set the phone down on the sink counter and wash my face. By the time it's dry, there's a message waiting for me. "Good, I was worried."

I smile. "Don't be its ok. How about tomorrow after school? I can ask my parents if I can come over. Were do you live?"

As soon as I send it, I see my error: were instead of where. I hate that not all of my mistakes are caught by autocorrect, especially when I'm texting with someone who I know is so much smarter than me.

"163 Chestnut."

That street is right behind mine. I peek out my bedroom window, which looks over our backyard, to see if I can see any lights on since we even live on the same block of our streets. When I don't see Thatcher in any of the windows, and then feel like a stalker, I message him back. "OMG you live behind me!!!"

"Seriously??"

"Not exactly but maybe. I live on Walnut. 154 Walnut."

"Okay, so then we're definitely hanging out tomorrow. At least to practice our scene in our backyards or something."

"It's to cold for that."

"True, but still... that's awesome we're neighbors. That makes practice way easier! And Starship Troopers movie viewings...."

"We will see about that," I reply, smiling. I yawn. "I gotta go to bed now. See you tomorrow Thatcher!"

"Ok, see you then. Good night!"

"Good night," I type, a smile on my face.