LostPhoebe: no

PrincessCesca: did he lay his palm on your cheek?

LostPhoebe: no

LostPhoebe: he was kinda busy holding me

PrincessCesca: are you sure he was going to kiss you?

LostPhoebe: for the millionth time . . . yes!

PrincessCesca: you’re in trouble

LostPhoebe: tell me about it

PrincessCesca: ES will kill you if you catch him before she can

ES is our shorthand for Evil Stepsister. AKA Stella.

After Griffin dropped me—and I found out that Nicole’s ankle zap had worn off and I could walk just fine—I had endured Stella’s inquisition about the whole thing.

As soon as she was satisfied, I ran to my room—to the new laptop and Internet connection that will be my salvation for these next few months—and called up Cesca on IM.

LostPhoebe: she won’t find out

PrincessCesca: it’s a small island

LostPhoebe: Justinian never found out they’d moved the school

PrincessCesca: what?

Oops. Not supposed to let that cat out of the bag. Well, at least I didn’t say who had moved the school. That would be worse.

LostPhoebe: just some junk about school history

LostPhoebe: we had a pep assembly on Friday

LostPhoebe: they’re big on tradition here

The cursor blinks at me for a long time. I can practically hear Cesca thinking from thousands of miles away. Great. If anyone can uncover the big secret, Cesca can. She’s the one who knew Justin was cheating on me weeks before the rest of the school found out.

PrincessCesca: yeah, Europeans are all serious about history

LostPhoebe: you’re not kidding

LostPhoebe: one of my teachers wears a toga to class

PrincessCesca: talk about your fashion faux pas

Another IM conversation pops up.

NaughtyNic: how’s your ankle

LostPhoebe: fine, no thanks to you

NaughtyNic: you were going to back out

LostPhoebe: that didn’t mean you had to

PrincessCesca: you still there?

LostPhoebe: yes

LostPhoebe: zap my ankle

NaughtyNic: what’s the harm?

NaughtyNic: it didn’t hurt

LostPhoebe: no, but

PrincessCesca: you’re talking to someone else, aren’t you?

LostPhoebe: of course not

LostPhoebe: you’re not talking either

LostPhoebe: I could have hurt myself falling

NaughtyNic: but you didn’t

NaughtyNic: it all worked out in the end

LostPhoebe: how would you know?

NaughtyNic: I saw him carry you home

PrincessCesca: if you’re going to ignore me I’m leaving

LostPhoebe: don’t go

PrincessCesca: then tell me who you’re talking to

LostPhoebe: a friend from school

LostPhoebe: she has a question about homework

I feel horrible lying to Cesca, but it’s easier than answering questions. Most of them aren’t even questions I’m allowed to answer.

LostPhoebe: him carrying me home doesn’t mean anything

NaughtyNic: what happened?

LostPhoebe: he almost kissed me

NaughtyNic: oh my gods!

NaughtyNic: why didn’t he?

LostPhoebe: Stella interrupted

PrincessCesca: Phoebe?

NaughtyNic: did she freak out?

LostPhoebe: no, she doesn’t know it was about to happen

PrincessCesca: hello???

LostPhoebe: hold on a sec

PrincessCesca: fine

NaughtyNic: see!!! it all worked out in the end

NaughtyNic: I zapped you for a good cause

LostPhoebe: I don’t care if he wound up groveling at my feet LostPhoebe: that’s no excuse to use your supernatural powers on me!

Blink, blink, blink.

NaughtyNic: are you there?

Blink, blink, blink.

NaughtyNic: Phoebe?

I glance back and forth at the two IM windows. Back and forth. Cesca and Nicole. L.A. and Serfopoula. My heart starts racing.

PrincessCesca: supernatural powers?

Crap!

LostPhoebe: have to go

NaughtyNic: something wrong

LostPhoebe: no, of course not

LostPhoebe: just have to go

LostPhoebe: now

LostPhoebe: bye

I quickly close the conversation with Nicole without waiting for her to reply. I am in so much crap it’s not even funny.

PrincessCesca: Phoebe, what’s going on?

Quick, think of a plausible explanation.

LostPhoebe: we’re doing this fantasy role-playing game

LostPhoebe: every character has special powers

LostPhoebe: they can use them against other characters

LostPhoebe: she used hers against me

LostPhoebe: in the game

Great, now I’m babbling in IM.

Cesca’s going to know something’s up. In her wildest dreams she wouldn’t guess exactly what, but Cesca’s like a bulldog—she doesn’t let go of something until she’s ready.

PrincessCesca: you hate computer games

LostPhoebe: um, not anymore

PrincessCesca: stop lying to me

LostPhoebe: I’m not

PrincessCesca: what’s really going on

PrincessCesca: what aren’t you telling me?

LostPhoebe: Cesca, I

Tears fill my eyes as I tell my best friend since kindergarten—the girl I’ve shared every deep, dark secret I’ve ever had with—that I can’t tell her this.

LostPhoebe: I can’t

LostPhoebe: I’m sorry

PrincessCesca: fine

I wait for her to say something more, to ask why or to make me tell her. But the stupid cursor just blinks at me. After staring at the unmoving conversation for fifteen minutes I accept the fact that she’s gone.