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there can be only one, you know?”
    “You are such a dork. What’d you do, watch all your
Buffy
DVDs over break?” Gillian flopped down on my bed. “But you’re right. I can’t see this going on for very long. One of them is going to kill the other, or get her expelled by the end of the week. And it’s only Tuesday.” She blinked. “Is all this stuff hers?”
    “Yep.” I sank into my desk chair, leaving the other end of my bed for Lissa. “I left all my Vuittons at home.” Not.
    “Wow. And I thought I had a lot of stuff.”
    “I just don’t know where she—”
    The door opened and Mac stepped in. “Company?” she inquired pleasantly. “Lovely.”
    Turning her back on us, she shrugged off the black sweater and unzipped the dress, tossing it in a corner. She kicked off her shoes and pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
    “Will—will you be able to do something about the dress?” I asked, hoping I sounded concerned. There was no hope of being friends, of course, but a catastrophe like this deserved some mourning over the body, at least.
    She glanced at it. “Oh, I don’t know. Haven’t the faintest idea where to get it seen to. I’ll probably just order another one.”
    From Chanel Couture. In Paris.
Sure, I’ll take two
.
    “It’s still a shame. Vanessa is such a—” Gillian stopped herself, then crossed the carpet and held out a hand. “I’m Gillian Chang. Carly says you’re called Mac. Is that short for something?”
    Mac ran a glance over her—tennies, jeans, cashmere sweater, face—and shook hands. “Hello. It’s short for MacPhail.”
    Lissa got up, too. “I’m Lissa Mansfield. It’s a pleasure to meet anyone with the spine to stand up to Vanessa. What’s your first name?”
    She got the same once-over before Mac spoke. “I prefer Mac.”
    O-o-kay. I took a tiny bit of comfort from the fact that she was an equal-opportunity snubber.
    But unlike me, Lissa didn’t go away quietly. “You know, I could swear we’ve met before. Your face is familiar, for some reason.”
    “I don’t see how.” Mac picked up a brush and ran it through her unruly curls. “I’ve never been to California in my life.”
    “What about New York? Montreal? Vancouver?”
    Mac shook her head, twisting her hair up and securing it with a clip.
    “MacPhail. Are you from the U.K.? Scotland?”
    “Originally. I go to school in London, of course. We have to do one term of cultural exchange. That’s how I ended up here.” She made it sound like she was researching pygmies in Borneo—against her will.
    “What was your first choice?” I meant it as a joke, but she didn’t take it that way.
    “New Zealand.”
    Oh. Never mind. Was it possible to have thirty seconds of conversation with this girl without being flattened?
    “Well, I’m glad you came here,” Gillian said. “Vanessa could use a little humility.”
    “Oh? What have you got against her?”
    Whoa. Was she switching sides? Did money and European connections stick together, no matter what?
    “Me? Nothing. Except that she tried to steal my boyfriend last term. And she set Lissa up—”
    “I don’t think Mac would be very interested in that,” Lissa interrupted. “Come on, Gillian. Carly, are you coming to prayer circle? It’s Tuesday.”
    “Absolutely. Just let me change my blouse. I got pesto on this one.”
    Mac looked from them, waiting by the door, to me, tearing off the babydoll top I had on and reaching for a tailored blouse that made my waist look half an inch smaller. “Prayer circle?” she said, in the same tone some people would say, “Head lice?”
    “Sure.” Gillian smiled at her. “Tuesday nights, seven o’clock. Everyone’s welcome.”
    “Term always starts on a Wednesday,” Lissa put in. “It kicks it off on a good note, I think.”
    “Is that a Christian thing?” Mac asked.
    Lissa nodded. I finished buttoning up the blouse and gave it a final tug.
Jump right in
. “Want to come?”
    Mac actually