"But I had bad memories too, you know," she continues, as if that doesn't drive a chill through my body. I stiffen and turn toward Isabella with a frown. "This one time, Allie Mendoza invited me to her eighth birthday party at a nail salon," Isabella chirps, oblivious to my mounting rage. "But my mom said I was too young to have painted nails, so she didn't let me get mine done. So, I'm pretty sure my trauma is worse than yours."
