Lyla shuffled into the bathroom and washed the nightmare from her face. A scarlet contusion capped the cheekbone below her eye. She gingerly fingered her swollen lower lip and winced when the brush that she dragged through her tangled hair found each cut on her scalp. She wasn't going to win any beauty contests. Not today. She brushed her hair to disguise her bruises. She couldn't let her dad see them.

She heard her phone. She raced from the bathroom into her bedroom, grabbed her phone from her bed, and pushed the door closed. It was a text from Jack, confirmation that he hadn't died overnight as a result of his extensive injuries.

Jack - I'm OK thx for asking

Lyla - 😌

Jack - I told my dad I got into a fight so grounded again

Lyla - Oh no 😥

No response.

Lyla - My dad was waiting up for me. I didn't tell him anything.

Lyla - He's super pissed 😡😡😡 I'm grounded too.

No reply.

Lyla - Maybe see you at school

Jack - Maybe

That didn't go the way she'd hoped but at least Jack had answered her text. She dropped the phone into her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and jogged downstairs.

She tiptoed into the living room on her way to the front door, but she couldn't make a clean getaway. Her father stood in the doorway, watching the news, his arms crossed. Luckily, he was too angry to make eye contact.

"We're out of bread," he grumbled. "You want some cereal?"

"We have any Pop-Tarts left?" She turned her face away.

He went to the cupboard to check.

A car horn beeped. "There's Darcy." She shouldered her bag.

He handed her a Pop-Tart. In a strict tone, he commanded, "You're to come straight home after school. Is that understood?"

With her head down she replied, "I have that make-up test after school."

"Straight home after the test."

She nodded. In his sorrowful eyes, she recognized pain and disappointment. There was more that he wanted to say, but he refrained. He went back into the kitchen.

She pulled the front door closed behind her and rambled down the porch steps. She got into the passenger seat of the car.

Darcy greeted her friend with a terse, "I see you're rockin' the pile-of-day-old crap look."

"I feel like a pile of day-old crap," she groaned. She hid behind another bite of her Pop-Tart.

"What the hell?!" Darcy raised her voice. "You came down the steps like an 80-year-old cripple!"

Lyla refused to engage.

"Another of Lyla Perry's secret adventures," Darcy fumed. "Looks like it must have been a super fun time."

"Can we just drop it?" She continued munching her way through the Pop-Tart.

"No, we can't just drop it. I'll figure this out, you know," Darcy warned. "I have theories."

"Is this a necessary conversation we need to be having right now?"

"What the fudge is wrong with you?! You totally ignore my texts. You don't answer my calls. How can you call yourself my best friend? You're really lucky to have me, girl."

"I know it," Lyla replied.

"You know you're not the most popular girl at school these days. Or on the planet."

"When was I ever?"

Darcy snarled, "Well, if you used to have a likability rating of twenty, right about now I'd say it's a negative one hundred."

"If I could tell you, you know I would in a hot second."

"And you can't tell me because...?"

Lyla lowered her head.

Darcy prodded, "Becaaaaaauuuuuuse..."

"I just can't."

"Which brings me back to my original question," Darcy said bitterly. "How can you call yourself my best friend?"

Darcy drove into the parking lot of the bagel shop.

"Why are we here?" Lyla gulped.

That was the opposite of what her friend wanted to hear. Her temper flared.

"Oh. I see. You and Jack. This is your special place. And now I've ruined it by setting foot on sacred ground." She got out and slammed the door.

Richie was on his way out of the shop when he saw Darcy approaching. "Hey, Buttercup." He grinned and picked a piece of lint from his cardigan.

She blew right past him into the shop.

His smile dropped. He shot dagger eyes at Lyla who trailed slowly. "You understand the chain of command, right?" He peered over his Warby Parker frames. "When she can't get in touch with you, I'm her go-to bestie. So, guess who was up 'til cock-a-doodle-don't?"

"Sorry," she sighed. "I only wanted to keep Darcy out of all this craptastic mess."

"And how's that been working out for you?" Richie grew progressively angrier.

She lowered her head.

"Damn, girl. Did you use a hammer to put on your makeup this morning? You look like something I drew with my left hand."

It was pointless to respond.

Richie steamed, "When I don't get my beauty rest, my tolerance for drama drops waaaaay down. So, I'm--."

"Can I just--?"

"I am not responsible for what my face does when you interrupt me." He pushed past Lyla, off to school.