Molly lay draped across the bed, tossing a tennis ball at an old stain on the ceiling and trying to figure out where things had gone wrong.
It wasn’t like she’d exactly had a plan, but she’d hoped for… well, if not friends, exactly, then at least something in that direction. Instead, she just felt more isolated and confused than ever.
Lucia had stormed out, taking an apologetic Brennan with her, and the others had kind of hovered in awkward silence until Carter had offered to take her home.
In retrospect, it had probably been a mistake to try and make friends at all.
Molly sighed at the ceiling again, and lobbed the ball at it. A piece of textured paint broke off, showering her with white dust. Great, Molly thought. Even this house thinks I’m pathetic.