Chapter 120

Isla

I try not to think about the pie. I fail within ten steps.

Giselle keeps snorting beside me like she is going to choke on air. Every time she glances at me, she loses the fight again.

“Please stop,” I mutter.

“I cannot,” she says, wiping a fake tear. “You pied Talia. That is art.”

“It was gravity,” I say. “And my terrible coordination.”

“Which is sometimes art,” she says cheerfully, and pushe