I had never been so nervous in my life. It was Monday. I was having dinner with the Faerie Queen tonight. Between now and then, I also had to get Elle to talk to me.

I'd sent her texts, which she'd ignored. I'd sent her a Facebook message, which she hadn't read. I'd waited outside one of her classes this morning, but she'd managed to slip past without making eye contact, and now, I stood poised outside the door of World History.

It wasn't just the job thing, though that was motivating enough. But Elle was mad at me. And, much as I knew I wasn't supposed to get emotionally involved with clients, I hated her being mad at me.

Elle was interesting, and she was nice, and she geeked out over environmental conservation strategies as much as I did. I didn't have many friends outside of Imogen and Lucas, and she seemed like she might become one. Now, though, she wouldn't talk to me because she thought I was a nosy invasive jerk.

The worst part was, she was right. I'd realized this job was going to take a lot of my time and involve boring work. I didn't realize it would try to steal my soul.

I looked for Elle through the glass window in the classroom door. She wasn't visible from here, though I could make out a pink-nailed hand I was pretty sure was Imogen's near the middle of the third row.

"You okay?" a voice said. I looked up. Lucas was looking down at me with a concerned smile on his face. I flushed, remembering the last time I'd seen him. Don't be weird, I ordered myself, and offered a smile back.

"I'm fine," I said. "Just got a lot on my mind. You know. Nothing new."

"Tell me about it," he said. "Pre-calc is trying to eat my brain." He leaned up against the wall opposite me and tilted his head. "What are you worried about?"

"Work," I said. It was a vague answer, but an honest one. "I'm just not sure I've got the right job."

"What do you do?" he asked.

"I work at a life coaching agency downtown," I said. That was my stock answer. It was the closest thing to what we actually did, and most people were so skeptical of the idea of life coaching that they didn't ask too many questions after that. "I don't think it's really my thing."

"That's surprising," he said. "You seem like you'd be good at it."

"Yeah?" I said. "Why?" I'd never heard anything like that before. I wished I could tell him the whole story. He seemed like the kind of person who'd know how to listen.

"You just seem like a good person to take problems to," he said. "Like you'd help people figure out their own solutions instead of force-feeding them. You know what I mean? I hear that's a good thing in a life coach."

I felt almost sick at how exactly wrong he was. I'd been doing nothing but the opposite, force-feeding Elle against my better judgment. "How do you know so much about it?" I said, wanting to get the subject off me. It felt like a limelight, hot and too bright.

Lucas laughed a little, the self-deprecating laugh of someone who'd told too much. "My mom's been through a few," he said.

I remembered his mom. She'd been a loud, opinionated person with lots of energy and motivation but also a tendency to crash and burn when she overexerted herself. I could see her going through all kinds of coaches and therapists. The image of her burning out one after another must have made me smile, because he said, "You can laugh. You didn't have to join in on the 'values clarification' and 'finding your inner self' exercises."

A giggle burbled up from my throat, and I realized I hadn't laughed in three days. It felt unbelievably nice.

He watched me with an eyebrow quirked, like he was trying not to be pleased with himself for making me laugh. "Sorry, I'm just picturing you chanting on a cushion," I said. He smirked, and I added, suddenly and irrationally terrified we'd run out of conversation, "So, what have you been up to lately?"

"Not a lot," he said. "Homework. Getting to know the city again."

"Is your girlfriend from here?" I asked. I wanted to shove my fist in my mouth to shut myself up. Why did I have to bring her up?

But he didn't seem to realize the question was awkward. "Yeah, she grew up in Beaverton and lives in the Eastmoreland neighborhood now."

In other words, she was rich. Probably beautiful too, I thought, because that would be just my luck. Then I reminded myself that I wasn't interested in Lucas and that we were just friends. Why did my brain immediately have to latch onto the idea of "boyfriend" every time I ran into him? It didn't do that for anyone else. I wished it had picked someone single to panic over.

"So are you—" I said, but was interrupted by the bell ringing. My attention snapped toward the door. "Sorry," I said quickly. "I'll talk to you later, okay? I've got to catch someone."

"Imogen, right?" he said. I wasn't surprised he'd remembered her name. He'd been good with names back when we were younger.

I nodded, not wanting to explain. I went back to staring through the door window. Students were standing, gathering their backpacks. Lucas shifted from one foot to the other. "Well," he said. "I'll see you around, then?"

"Definitely," I said, wishing I could have him stay and catch Elle at the same time. But I didn't want him to witness this. Elle wouldn't be happy to see me.

"Okay," he said. His voice was hesitant, like he wanted to keep talking. I wanted to keep talking, too, but I only had one shot to fix this before I met with Amani. I couldn't stomach the thought of feeling guilty over Elle and trying to keep up a conversation with the Faerie Queen at the same time. Something had to resolve or I was going to melt into a pile of oversensitive faerie goo. My faerie blood was a pain in the butt. The magic was nice and everything, but some days, it was so not worth the emotional overload.

Lucas walked away. I glanced up to watch him go, half wanting to chase after him and forget about the whole Elle thing, when the classroom door slammed open and students poured out. I recognized her blond hair and grabbed her arm out of the crowd, like some predator plucking fish from a school. "I need to talk to you," I said, once I had her outside the stream of people.

She yanked her arm away. "I don't need to talk to you," she said. "What is your problem?"

I walked down the hallway with her, matching her quick steps. "I want to apologize," I said. "I just—I just want you to be happy, you know? Tyler likes you. I thought that would be a good thing."

"Why would that be a good thing?" she said.

I had to dig a second to come up with an honest answer. "Because it's nice to be liked," I said. "And because, honestly, he has a lot of influence around here. I figured you'd be okay with that. I mean, just imagine what that could do for Pumpkin Spice."

I hadn't thought of it until that moment, but it was true: Tyler could be the difference that made her vision for the cafe come true. If she could mobilize him and all the kids who followed his every move, she could get some momentum going.

It was probably a red flag for the relationship if Tyler's biggest attraction was purely mercenary, but then, we weren't shooting for a real happy-ever-after here.

"I'll manage it without a man's help, thank you," Elle said.

"Why?" I said. "You hate guys?"

She spun on me. "No," she said. "They just don't validate my existence. God, I thought you were more interesting than this."

I'd thought I was too. I switched tactics.

"I didn't realize it would upset you," I said. "I guess you like Kyle, huh?"

Wrong move. She stopped dead and whirled on me. "Why is that your business?" she demanded. "Who I like, who I'm interested in, is not your business. My life is no one's business but mine. Why is that so hard for people to understand? Do you like it when people are always asking you stupid questions and trying to tell you who you're supposed to be?" She actually seemed to be expecting and answer. She stared at me, eyes wide, waiting.

I hated people telling me who I was supposed to be. Other people making my choices for me was the only reason I was standing here talking to her. "No," I said. "I don't."

"Okay, then," she said. "Not that complicated."

"I just want to help you," I said.

Her voice rose to a shout. "Who said I needed help?" she said. I flinched, looking around and trying to figure out how to make her quiet down. I couldn't just reach for my wand. People were staring at us. "Leave me alone. Quit showing up at my work. You can find crappy Columbian slave labor coffee somewhere else. What is this about? Are you into me? Is that why you're so curious? Because I told you, I'm not gay."

"I'm not either," I said. "That's not what this is about."

"Then stop stalking me!"

That seemed dramatic. But it got results. Within seconds, a teacher from a classroom we'd passed was standing at our elbows. "Excuse me," she said, looking down at us with her eyes bouncing between us, taking us both in. "What was that?"

It was the worst word Elle could have used. There had been a giant fiasco last year when a girl had been stalked and assaulted at a nearby high school during a homecoming game, and the school had been plastered by anti-rape campaign posters and anonymous hotlines for months. Teachers took accusations of stalking and assault very seriously around here, and I couldn't think of anything to say in my defense.

The gross part of all this was that, job description and official client and faerie power notwithstanding, I kind of was.

I stepped back from Elle, my hands up and heart racing. I didn't need this kind of drama today any more than she did. I had more than enough in store for this evening. "This is nothing," I said. "Elle doesn't want to be friends. I get it."

"Do you really?" the teacher asked, looking down at me with overly serious eyes. She wrapped an arm around Elle's shoulders. I saw Elle stiffen, but she didn't say anything. "This girl is saying 'no.' You need to respect her choices and leave her alone unless you have her consent."

I restrained an eyeroll with force. "I do understand," I said. "Unfortunately, Elle does not understand that I'm trying to apologize to her." I stared at Elle, trying to convey through my eyes that she needed to get the teacher to back off so we could talk. Elle didn't get the message.

"Maybe she doesn't want to be apologized to," the teacher said. She had a voice like I was a kindergartner who needed to learn not to bite other kids.

"Man, thanks," I said, my voice edging the line between sincerity and sarcasm. "I hadn't realized that." I looked over at Elle. "We need to talk," I said. "Because you have got one hell of a wrong impression."

"I doubt that," Elle said. "All I know is that you won't leave me—"

"That's what having friends is like, Elle," I said. "Friends ask each other about guys. Friends try to actually talk about stuff like grownups when they're upset instead of having screaming matches in the hallway. I'm so sorry if normal human contact is such a messed-up idea to you."

An idea flashed in my mind, and before I'd thought it through, I added, "Friends who know things about each other's moms tell each other." I threw up my hands again. "But I guess we're not friends, so never mind. Forget I said anything. Sorry I 'stalked' you."

I turned and marched off, not stopping when the teacher said, "Now, I don't think that's—"

She was cut off by Elle. "Never mind," she said, her voice curt. "There's no problem here. Just a misunderstanding."

"Are you sure?" the teacher asked.

"Positive," Elle said. Her eyes narrowed, but I was gone.