Well, okay, she doesn’t look remotely like a dork, because it’s just not possible, but. The sentiment is there.

I get assigned to peas and carrots, right next to Heather, who’s charged with distributing corn bread. Not the most exciting offerings, but I try to take my cues from the Nicest Girl in the World and prepare myself to serve every scoop with a smile.

“So how do you know Isabel?” she asks, the smile never leaving her face as she arranges the yellow squares neatly in the shallow rectangular basket. Her tone is casual, but I realize that this has probably been bugging her since I first introduced them. I pretended not to hear, but I caught her saying that she and Isabel have met before, and it makes sense—if they were both on community service last year, they’ve probably done this together already.

Is it wrong that the idea I might’ve somehow stumbled into a slightly higher social stratum than the girl whose boyfriend used me and threw me away feels pretty damn good? Yeah, it’s wrong. But I never get to be this girl. The sister of Sierra Riley never gets to be this girl. I just need, like, three seconds to enjoy it.

“Oh, we met at the club fair. Mutual friend.” And here’s my chance. “Speaking of people we met at the club fair, what’s the deal with you and Lucas? Are you guys, like, a thing?”

Her face lights up. “Yeah, I guess we’re official now. We hung out a lot last year, became really good friends, and then we just kinda started flirting and realized we liked each other. Right before the summer we said we’d see how things were when we got back, and then we talked, like, every day. So right at orientation, he asked me to be his girlfriend, and that was that.”

Cool. I want to hurl everywhere. The fact that he asked her “at orientation,” whether that means shortly before or right after he and I hooked up, is so gross. She seems so convinced of his greatness despite all evidence to the contrary, and it reminds me of, well, me. I deserved so much better, and so does Heather. But I just say, “Cool.”

“Yeah,” she says, her voice growing a little dreamy, making me incredibly sorry I ever opened this line of conversation. “We met at the parents’ luncheon at orientation last year and ended up sitting together. My mom’s from the Midwest, so she was excited to meet his parents. Honestly, it all feels very fated.”

“Cool,” I say again, because I’ve forgotten every other word in my vocabulary.