There was a time when I always put up with Shannon’s shit because it was easier than fighting with her, but it turns out that was completely pointless—I’ve been mad all week, and she doesn’t even notice. When I grunt in response to her questions or bail on lunch to work on a lab report, she acts like that’s nothing out of the ordinary and goes on chattering about the shopping trip she’s taking with her mom in SoHo for her birthday and this guy she hooked up with in France who keeps sending her pictures of himself making sad faces over missing her.

I try to make eyes with Kiki and Gia, but as usual, Gia’s hanging on every word and piping up with ways Tommy either is or should be more romantic, and Kiki couldn’t care less, because some huge YouTuber named Kiki on the Case as his newest bonkers obsession. She’s managing a wild increase in followers and subscribers, so her only contributions to conversations this week have been things like “What do you think about a series on celebrity death conspiracy theories, starting with Marilyn Monroe? I need to appeal to a bigger audience now.”

I would be thrilled when things are shaken up with a new face at our lunch table on Friday, except that face belongs to Jasmine.

“Yay!” Shannon claps her hands together as Jasmine takes a seat, setting down a tray of chicken fingers and tater tots with extra hot sauce. “Excited you finally made it.”

Finally made it? Ugh. If I weren’t already annoyed at Shannon, knowing she’s been inviting Jasmine to lunch every damn day would certainly do it. Shannon only tries this hard with people when she thinks they have something of value to add to our group. I wonder whether it was Jasmine’s gorgeous house or killer party that did it. Both are sort of weird options, since Shannon has every bit as nice a house, and plenty of kids around here throw good parties, but what else could it be? It’s not like she knows that Jasmine has gorgeous photography skills and amazing taste in books, or that she’s the most fun person to road-trip with because she’ll howl the most ridiculous lyrics out the window and make up the best and most filthy backstories for strangers in the cars next to us. And I’m reasonably certain she doesn’t know that Jasmine is an excellent kisser.

Does she?

Suddenly, my own tater tots look way less appealing. I grab a cucumber slice from my salad and nibble that instead.

“It’s been a busy week,” says Jasmine with all the apology in her voice she can muster, which frankly isn’t much. “It’s not exactly the same curriculum as in Asheville. I have to catch up on some stuff.”