I spend a few minutes listening to a trucker tell me how a concrete truck overturned on I-40 near Knoxville, causing a three-hour traffic jam. No one was hurt, thank goodness.

At around eleven, the hostess seats Kelsey Painter, Vanessa Green, and Savannah Barrow in my section.

Great.

Kelsey grew up in Oakdale with me—her trailer sat two doors down from mine, and we had a lot in common. We both had single moms, only mine worked nights at the Quick Pick while hers worked days down at the Co-op. Her mom watched Nick and me while we slept, and my mother made sure Kelsey got to school, picked her up, and took care of her afterward. We shared a bed for years—it was like a never-ending slumber party. In all ways except blood, we were sisters.

Until eighth grade, that is, when Kelsey’s mom married a man who owns a landscaping business. They moved into a four-bedroom house on the other side of Franklin, and suddenly Kelsey had new jeans and an iPod while I still had the same flip-flops from Walmart and the radio. Every time I hung out at her house, all I could think about was how clean her kitchen was, how I could see my reflection in the stainless steel appliances. I wondered if the trailer park had a smell I didn’t notice, because I sure as hell could smell the lemon Pledge and dryer sheets in her new home.

Going there made me so uncomfortable, so unsure of myself, I stopped accepting her invitations to spend the night. Then she joined the cheerleading squad and became friends with the new girl, Vanessa. By the time high school rolled around, we didn’t have much in common, and we started arguing over little things, like when I accidentally lost a T-shirt of hers. And I didn’t have as much time to hang out anymore since I’d started dating Kyle. Then a rumor went around that Kelsey had a thing for him and I started dating him anyway. I never knew she liked him. If I had, I wouldn’t have dated him. If your friend—your sister—likes a boy, you don’t date him. But by the point the gossip started, Kelsey and I hadn’t spoken in months. Why give up the boy I was falling in love with for a friend who ditched me for the new girl? Besides, if the rumor was true, spending time with her could be super awkward.

None of that made Mom too happy; she didn’t like that I spent all my time outside of school with him and working at the Roadhouse and never really had girlfriends after that.

“A boy should fit into your life—not become it. High school is when you start to define yourself. Don’t define yourself as the girl who has a boyfriend and nothing else.”

Problems with Kelsey aside, Vanessa has been nice to me this year. Some days I feel well enough to talk to her in study hall, and we partnered for a history project on pirates.

I pull a deep breath through my nose and charge toward their table, where they’re looking at menus and talking loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear them.

“I want cheese fries to start!” Savannah says.

“But I won’t be able to try on clothes later today,” Kelsey whines. “I’ll get bloated.”

“I don’t trust anybody who doesn’t like appetizers,” Savannah says matter-of-factly.

I pull a pen from behind my ear. “Hey.”

Vanessa and Savannah look up and smile. “Hey!”

Kelsey studies the menu and doesn’t acknowledge me. Figures.

All three girls look slightly disheveled, wearing last night’s mascara. Their hair is messy and curly, falling out of pinned up buns on top of their heads.

“What’s with the hair?” I ask.

“Prom,” Savannah says.

Oh yeah. Prom. Now that I think about it, I did see some sparkly girls eating in another section last night. “How was it?”

“Use your imagination. It was a Wild West theme in the cafeteria,” Kelsey mutters.

“I wish we could’ve convinced the school board to let us have prom at a hotel this year,” Vanessa says. “Why do they always assume we’ll get hotel rooms, have sex, and drink?”

“That’s what you would do,” Savannah teases. “Seems the school board knows what they’re talking about.”

“You got a hotel room last night!” Kelsey replies.

Savannah’s cheeks turn pink. “And you didn’t?”

“No, because she’s still in a guy drought, remember?” Vanessa says.

“Can I get y’all something to drink?” I interrupt, not wanting to hear about this guy drought, whatever that means. “Want an appetizer? It’s on me.” Anything to get out of this conversation.

“You’re the sweetest,” Vanessa says, and they order Diet Cokes and the calorific cheese fries. I rocket to the vestibule, enter the order in the computer, and start filling glasses with ice. When I drop off their drinks and get their entrée order, they’re talking about graduation and the senior class cruise that’s the same night.