"—And my point is," Felicia was saying, shoving a chocolate chip cookie in her mouth, "there's literally nothing Darcy can do that Bingley can't do better, and with a smile. And that's why I'd always pick him over Darcy."

Rolling over on her queen-sized bed, I gazed out the window and wondered how we had ended up here. Not physically, of course—we were at Felicia's place, for a sleepover, just as planned—but this discussion was definitely not something I had expected. But here we were; we had somehow ended up watching The Lizzie Bennet Diaries on YouTube, one thing had led to another, and now we were arguing over which Pride and Prejudice character would be the better boyfriend.

"Bingley's not good at confrontation," Chelsea replied, as I gave a nod. "Do you want a boyfriend who avoids any conflict and just says yes to everything?"

Louie looked at her with wide eyes. "But he's so sweet," she said.

"So is Darcy!" I replied. "He just saves his sweetness for the people who matter to him."

Felicia rolled her eyes, reaching over to our side to retrieve her half-empty glass of juice. The bed had somehow become divided between Team Bingley and Team Darcy, with the snacks lying between us along with Chelsea's well-thumbed copy of Pride and Prejudice. "I literally don't care if he can be sweet to some people," she said. "Darcy was a stuck-up dickhead until Lizzie called him out. You want to date that?"

"And then he changed himself for her!" I protested.

"Girl." Felicia gave me a heavy, long-suffering look. "Listen up. Any guy you need to change before he treats you right is not a guy who's worth it. That's literally how you get great women putting up with total garbage boyfriends."

I thought of Brandon, and just for a moment I couldn't help wondering if this was a lesson she had learned the hard way. If she had gone into their relationship thinking she could change him, get rid of his bad habits maybe, and had been hopelessly disappointed.

Felicia used to do it, you know. Tell me to stop smoking.

Maybe that was why their relationship had failed, I mused. Felicia had been trying to get him to be healthier, to improve himself, and Brandon didn't like being told what to do. I wasn't a fan of his smoking either, but in the end it was his decision, and unless he wanted to quit, I didn't think there was much I could do about it.

Maybe that had been the problem. They were incompatible, and neither of them had been the bad guy.

"I don't know," I said. "I don't think I could work well with Bingley—we'd both avoid conflict so much that we never talk anything out. I think you'd work well with someone like him, though!" I smiled up at Felicia. "Maybe it just depends on the person who's better."

Felicia looked unconvinced, but before she could say anything, Chelsea spoke up. "But hey," she said, "at least we can all agree that Wickham would be a terrible boyfriend."

"Ew!" Felicia burst out, even as Louie and I made faces. "Don't make me think about it! He was almost thirty and she was—" Cutting herself off, she took a big gulp from her apple juice. "Ugh, this is disgusting. I need to wash down the bad taste."

"And he still made people think he was the victim, and Darcy was the bad guy," Louie said solemnly. "And when they figured it out, it was too late."

Chelsea gave a nod. "They made the right call when they depicted him like that in here," she said, motioning to Felicia's laptop, where we were still between episodes of The Lizzie Bennet Diaries. "I'm stealing the nickname Dickham."

We all laughed, and the tension dissipated. Curling up together, we went back to watching the show, passing the snacks around and losing all track of time. No one had told me about this sort of thing either, I thought. In all the books and movies I knew, popular girls were vapid and made fun of people who actually read books. And here I was, having just had a heated discussion with the most popular girls of the school about a Jane Austen novel.

Sunday would be surprised to hear that too, I thought. Maybe it would even change her opinion of Felicia and the others, at least a little bit. She still couldn't stand them, but I didn't think she knew them all that well in the first place. If she did, I couldn't imagine her disliking them all as much as she did now.

We ended up having dinner together with Felicia's mom, but she didn't talk to me much. Sometimes it looked like she was about to, but then Felicia shot her a glare, and she turned to chat with Chelsea or Louie instead. Then we got back to Felicia's room, finished binge-watching one show, started the next, and continued to watch and talk until, one by one, everyone fell asleep.

I remained awake, staring up at the ceiling that was so much higher than the one at home. A million thoughts were going through my head, racing each other at such a speed that I could never keep up. Brandon. The girls. Sunday. My new shirt, and what everyone would think of it. Would Sunday find it too girly? Would Brandon think I was selling out, as he had put it? Would my parents question why I was suddenly dressing up instead of hiding? Would people stare if I wore it to school? I wanted to, really badly. I felt so…pretty in it. Graceful, something I had never felt before.

Was this why Felicia and the others cared so much about fashion? It was so…understandable, suddenly. The world didn't like girls who cared too much about their looks, who put too much effort into it; they were painted as vapid and shallow, like they were only doing it out of vanity or for other people's approval. But that wasn't the impression I got from Felicia and the others. They were just…expressing themselves. They played around with their looks and put effort into them because it was fun, a way to show the world who they were on the inside. Who we were on the inside. People like Sunday did the same thing, just in a different style.

Careful not to wake the others, I stood up, slipping through the silent room to stand by the window. The moon was shining down on the grounds, casting the perfect lawn in a silvery light and painting a glittering reflection on the still water of the pool. The wind was brushing through the trees, sending the first autumn leaves drifting gently to the ground.

"Pretty, right?"

I jumped. Between the view and my own thoughts, I had been so distracted that I hadn't noticed Felicia's presence at all.

"I—yeah," I spluttered, taking a moment to calm down my startled heartbeat. "Sorry, I—I didn't hear you coming."

Shrugging lightly, Felicia leaned forward to prop herself up on the windowsill. "I had to be quiet," she whispered. "Chelsea would kill me if I woke her up."

I cracked a tiny smile. "Does she not like being woken up?"

"She hates it." Felicia rolled her eyes. "She never sleeps in anyway, but if you wake her up too early, it's like waking a sleeping dog or something."

With a fondly exasperated smile she glanced back over her shoulder to the sleeping forms of Louie and Chelsea. I followed her gaze. "You guys know each other well," I said.

"I mean, duh," Felicia said easily. "We're friends."

I nodded, suddenly feeling slightly unwelcome and very left out. These three were…they were so close. And then there was me, the newcomer they had only invited into the group to keep me away from Brandon.

"Right," I said softly, gazing down into the dark pool. "That makes sense."

"What about you?"

I looked up. "Huh?"

"What kind of person are you?" Felicia asked. "In the morning. Will you, like, get cranky if I wake you up?"

"Oh!" I let out a laugh. "No, not really…probably just a bit disoriented or something. I'm not really a morning person, but I'm also not not a morning person—does that make sense?"

"Hmm." Felicia blew a breath against the window glass and painted patterns into the condensation. "When I was younger, I used to hate mornings. Every morning, I'd just wake up and hate everything."

A chuckle escaped me. "Really?" I asked. "And now you don't?"

"Not anymore," she said. "Guess I just grew up, or something."

I regarded her quietly. I had never seen Felicia without makeup before, I realized; she looked so different without it, and somehow the exact same. Her face looked younger like this, paler and softer in the moonlight, her skin less perfect but still beautiful. She was just…so much more human now, standing there in her pajamas with her hair undone, but still very much the Felicia I knew.

"I used to hate mornings too," I said, tearing my gaze from her to watch the leaves fly through the night, onto the lawn, where someone would have to rake them up tomorrow. "I used to stay up all night reading a lot, so…you know."

Felicia snorted. "And now you don't?"

"Well, sometimes I still do," I confessed. "Sometimes I just can't put a book down, and…I just like it. Being awake when the world is asleep." A tiny smile crossed my face. "It's so peaceful."

"I know, right?"

Felicia was smiling at me as she spoke, not her usual flippant, confident smile or even the encouraging one she often used on me. Her smile was just…soft, a little imperfect, just like the rest of her makeup-free face. There was a warmth to her that softened her icy blue eyes into a calm, soothing hue.

Somehow, it felt…strange. Good, but strange. Like it was too much for me, too much of a good thing, and sooner or later it would lead to disaster.

"What?" I asked, giggling nervously. "Is there anything on my face?"

Felicia gave her head a slight shake, and the strange look faded. "Nothing," she said lightly. "Your expression was cute."

"What?" I asked again, but Felicia was already slipping back to her bed.