We sit in a circle in English 4. Mrs. Pollack thinks this formation encourages discussion, that if we see each other’s faces, we’re more likely to say what we’re thinking out loud. Instead, it makes me queasy. I’ve long wanted to raise my hand and tell her that if she really wanted an intense conversation, we should hold class via text.

Today, a month into senior year, we’re talking about Crime and Punishment, which of course Shola loved and I hated, or at least I hated the first fifty pages enough not to read beyond them.

“So Fyodor Dostoyevsky—and this is in real life, not in C&P, remember—is about to be executed, is mere seconds away from being shot in the head, and instead ends up being sent to a labor camp in Siberia for four years. Now, what is four years? Let’s unpack this.” Though we are less than a month into the school year, we already know that unpack is Mrs. Pollack’s favorite word. Shola and I count, and she once used it thirty-two times in forty-five minutes. “Four years is how long you will spend in high school. Imagine, for a moment, that instead of lounging around in this lofty bastion of privilege and entitlement, you were serving time at a prison camp in Siberia.”

“Samesies!” Levi shouts, and the room dissolves into laughter. Axl and Simon both fist-bump him, and he looks over at me, as if to make sure I registered the joke. I smile, and catching his eye feels like the most delicious kind of panic.

I’ve had an intense, debilitating crush on Levi since seventh grade, and I’ve been relegated to the friend zone for just as long. Which is totally fine. We can’t get everything we want. Deprivation builds character.

Levi and I hang out sometimes and text constantly—about school, about our existential crises, and of course about all the girls he likes, because life is cruel and though this may not be a Siberian labor camp, high school has its own indignities. Shola’s convinced that Levi is just as in love with me as I am with him, but as my ride-or-die, it’s her job to feed my ego when the rest of the world craps on it.

I do the same for her, because even though Shola is the best person on earth, high school isn’t a place known for recognizing out-of-the-ordinary greatness or for celebrating true nonconformity. They only seem to like the intentionally cultivated, Instagram-friendly kind. Shola’s literally too cool for school.