Ferro slammed the door of her locker, hiding the picture. “Wedding cake. The one I’m going to have,” she barked.

Drake swung the door back open, staring. “Fuckin’ thing’s bigger’n Vasquez.”

“Prettier, too,” Hudson added.

Vasquez elbowed him in the side, squeezing underneath his arm. She tilted her head. “What’s all that?”

“Fondant,” Ferro said, knowingly. “Pretty, right?”

“You eat that thing?”

“It’s cake: kind of the fucking point, Vasquez.”

“No way. That’s wedding cake,” Drake said. “Supposed to be big, pretty and fuckin’ expensive.”

“How you know so much about weddings, Drake?”

A wink. “All for you, baby—ow!”