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then tossed the stupid thing. It skidded across the roof. Mom had given her a fat stack of magazines when they’d said goodbye at airport security, like what was eating Lily alive was a dearth of articles on how to perfect your cat-eye liner. The beauty tips weren’t the point. Her blog could be about the mating cycles of fruit bats. The point was, Lily had friends. Saintblonde lived all the way in Tampa and wanted Lily’s opinion on what haircut to get. Fizzimiss was from somewhere in Arizona and if Lily didn’t ping her to let her know that she was nearby and eminently visit-worthy then she really would be as snotty and shallow as all of a sudden everyone was convinced she was.
    Dad had said they weren’t real people. He’d joked about outgrowing imaginary friends.
    No. The person who wasn’t a real person was her mystery classmate, Anonymous Crybaby VonFragilekins.
    This time, Der Führer climbed onto the table to jump. He stuck the landing.
    Lily hadn’t even had the chance to face her accuser.
    Headmistress Brecken identified her as a classmate-whose-image-you-appropriated-without-her-knowledge-or-consent. A classmate-who-you-then-held-up-for-public-ridicule. As I’m sure you’re aware, Miss Birnam, we expect better of our student citizens.
    Lily hadn’t even known the girl went to Day.
    She hadn’t been wearing her uniform or anything, and the image arrived in her inbox pre-cropped.
    Der Führer was back on the picnic table. He made a running start.
    Lily shifted, chin in her hands.
    Three stupid paragraphs and boom. Goodbye, two years of work. Auf wiedersehen, au revoir, and sayonara, international following. Not to mention two weeks’ grounding and total technological confiscation.
    She wasn’t mean. Ever. She had a rule. Only criticize what a girl can actually change.
    And there’d been compliments in the Fixit in question.
    First things first, chickie-dee: can the lace collar and the cutesy little cap sleeves. You’re not ten. Obviously. We can all see the Boob Fairy thought you were a very good girl. If you weren’t wearing a blouse like a first grader in the Thanksgiving pageant, everyone here would be dead of envy.
    Second, the Boob Fairy was generous but she forgot to leave an instruction manual. Your bra strap is showing. Bonus points for purple though. Is that satin? I wish more readers had your guts.
    Third, I’m worried about your necklace. Points for taking on that whole charm and bauble boho thing, but between you and me and the Internet it looks a little bit Etsy.
    Lily frowned and watched Der Führer jump again, his thin arms flapping. He landed on the hot tub cover, but only barely. He toppled off, stood, wiped his palms on his shorts, and climbed right back up to try again. Talk about easily amused.
    She took another swig of water.
    Sierra said she was lucky. Anyone else would be suspended for sure, but nothing’s going to stick to you for long. Nothing scares the trustees like the prospect of a big fat lesbian lawsuit. Be all angel food cake and they’ll let you up again in no time. That sounded a bit optimistic to Lily, but she didn’t say so. Sierra probably felt guilty. The Boob Fairy had been her invention. Lily’d balked about posting it but Sierra said no, it was hilarious. She even drew a cartoon Boob Fairy for Lily’s locker.
    Down in the courtyard, Der Führer missed the hot tub. He landed square on his butt. A shocked, solid breath escaped.
    Lily stood and checked the back of her legs for color, pressing a finger to the flesh of her calf. The white mark flared then faded. It was a hundred and eighty degrees today and, in the absence of her iPhone, terminally boring to lie out. She’d stay for ten more little Hitler jumps and then head in. The kid positioned himself and ran. He cleared the space between table and hot tub, landed, and let out a small cheer.
    The ponytailed runner circled by