Free Empress of the World by Sara Ryan

braid in my drawer, underneath the sweater. The braid of Her Imperial Highness.
    “How many cigarettes do you smoke in here?” Battle asks, coughing a little. “Isn’t that against all the rules? Doesn’t anyone ever—check on you?”
    Katrina shakes her head. “My RA smokes, too,” she says smugly. “I don’t tell on her, she doesn’t tell on me.”
    Battle sighs, and sits down next to me. She reaches over and takes one of my hands in both of hers. “Don’t you start,” she says, gripping my hand urgently.
    “Um, I, I wouldn’t dream of it,” I manage to say, hoping that she can’t feel the speed of my pulse.
    “Good,” she says, and drops my hand. Then she looks over at Katrina’s Erté calendar. “I just remembered something. Isn’t tomorrow the evil Fourth of July volleyball game?”
    “Oh no,” says Katrina, sounding genuinely stricken. “Oh god, I’d forgotten about that. What is it about this place that they think it’s a good idea to force perfectly innocent youth to perform brutal and fascistic acts like hiking and playing volleyball?”
    “Should we go to sleep, then? So we won’t be totally wiped out when we have to get up to play?” I ask.
    “Are you saying you would give up the joyous companionship of your loved ones for the sake of a game?” Katrina has her hands on her hips and is glaring at me.
    I laugh, trying to catch her mood. “Okay, okay, forget I said anything. Bring on the chemically processed snacks!”
    Katrina distributes various oddly shaped and colored sweets, including chocolate computer disks and chili-mango lollipops. I don’t expect to like the lollipops, but I do. They come in two parts: the actual lollipop, which is purely mango-flavored, and a small, thimble-shaped container full of salt and chili powder, into which you dip the lollipop. There are also M&Ms. Katrina is about to dump them onto the floor when Battle the neat freak shrieks, “Put something down so they don’t get ground into the carpet!”
    Katrina obligingly produces an Indian cotton blanket, which she puts down without moving the books and clothes that are already on the floor. Then she pours out the M&Ms. I immediately begin to sort them by color. Katrina says, “No green ones for you!” She winks at me.
    I could kill her, but two can play at that game. “Why not, are you going to save them for somebody? Like . . .Isaac maybe?” I ask, scooping up a handful of brown M&Ms and popping them into my mouth.
    “Would you drop the Isaac thing? Even if I was interested, which I am not, he’s totally freaked out about his parents, and he has a girlfriend back home!”
    “I doubt that he does any more, after that phone call we heard, remember? Besides, he’s probably going to end up moving, so that means he won’t stay with her, right?” Battle asks.
    “Oh, I see. He won’t want a long-distance thing with her, but he will want one with me. Have I mentioned that you are totally delusional?” Katrina raps gently on Battle’s shiny head.
    “Maybe he’ll end up moving to where you live!” I suggest, pleased that the focus of the conversation is now squarely on Katrina.
    “Oh god. He’d fit right in. He could sell the traditional handicrafts of his people in the Plaza. Or perhaps he could attend services at one of our many fine Catholic churches—or, better yet, at a Mormon tabernacle!”
    “My dad has a thing about Mormons,” says Battle. “He says they should just become professional genealogists, since that’s obviously where their talents lie, and leave the religion out of it.”
    “So do you have to go to church, like, every week?” asks Katrina.
    Battle sighs. “Will you promise not to laugh?” she asks.
    “No,” Katrina and I say at the same time. Battle smiles wryly.
    “Ha ha. Well, here’s the deal. I have to go, but I don’t attend the service. I take care of the babies that are too little to go to Sunday school. I read to them. Or sing.”
    Katrina says,