“I don’t . . . I don’t know, really. But I want to do something,” I say as we start walking toward the cafeteria.

“Okay, I’m in. Let’s just think of something good, you know?”

“Obviously,” I say, both relief and fear filling me. Glad he’s on board, but also—this means it’s happening. That it can’t be just words anymore. And, okay, we’re doing this. We swap numbers and plan to text later.

I leave him for the cafeteria but double back quickly to get my chemistry textbook. I get to the stairwell and hear someone under the stairs. Kind of movement, kind of humming. I look down and my jaw drops. Jessica is making out with a guy who is most definitely not her boyfriend, Brett. I do the first thing that comes to mind—I take a picture and run away as fast as I can.

Important development, I text Nik.

What’s up?

I send him the picture, and a minute later he responds.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.

Meet after school?

Yeah, ok

I’m practically jumping, waiting for Nik in front of the library.

“So why am I not surprised by this?” he asks when he sees me.

“’Cause she’s the worst?” I answer, raising an eyebrow.

“Does Brett know?” he asks.

“Can’t imagine,” I say.

“So . . . is this the revenge? We show him?”

“I don’t know. I mean, and then he’ll dump her, and that’ll suck, but she’ll have another guy to fall back on. It’s mean, yeah, but she’ll be fine,” I say. I don’t want to scar her for life or anything, but she clearly has her options with guys, and embarrassing her can only do so much. Knowing her, she’ll make it all about her and somehow become the victim.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “That makes sense.”

I think back to her comments earlier and something stands out. Something important. “Or wait. We can show him this Saturday.”

“Why this Saturday?” Nik asks.

“It’s her Sweet Sixteen.”

“Oh. Wow. How do you know?”

“She mentioned it around me earlier and then said, ‘Sorry, only good people come to my party. I don’t need any demons by me.’”

“Wow, she is awful.”

“Yeah. So that could, like, embarrass her in front of her friends. He can dump her there, ruining her big party.”

“That could work,” he says softly, and a flush of realness washes over me.

We discuss logistics a bit longer, then head out, the future ahead of us. A future that may not involve snide remarks every time we enter a room.

When we exit the school, I look at Nik.

“I take the bus?” he says, a bit embarrassed. “So, uh, I have to wait for my mom to pick me up. She’ll be here in about an hour.”