Toni’s cheeks pink as he pulls his ink-black hair into a small ponytail. “Well, you had your date and I didn’t want to, uh . . .” He scratches his nose. Telltale signs he’s hiding something. I gasp. “You’re in on this shit!” “Okay. Just . . . listen.” He stares at me very seriously. “They made me.” “They made you.” “Yes! Last night, Sula and Margo texted that you had a date and it was not to be disturbed. That’s all, I swear. Does that make it any better?” I glare at him. “It does not.” “How about”—he bends, then straightens with a plate towered in what I can’t see but know by smell alone are
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