I squint at her.

“You’re my friend, Simone,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m allowed to want to see you.”

“But you’re nervous,” I say, guessing. “Otherwise, you would’ve just waited outside.”

“A little,” she says. “But it’s better because of you guys.”

As if to prove it, she wraps her arms around me in a hug.

“Aw, Lydia,” I say, face in her shoulder. “You’re too much.”

Really, though, I love her.

“I just have to get my bag,” I say, pulling back after a minute. “You should come in.”

She nods, following me. Her bag is decorated with different pins—our school logo, characters from The Lego Movie, and I Love Taiwan pins from her trip to visit family last summer.

“Hi, Lydia,” Pops says as I grab my bag off the counter. “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks.” She flashes a smile. “Ready to get to school.”

I snort into my arm. Lydia actually likes school, something I’ll never understand.

“And your parents?”

“They’re fine.” She rocks back on her heels. “Busy, as usual.”

Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Wu, want her to get good grades, but they aren’t annoying about it the way Claudia’s parents are. They never painted multiplication tables on her bedroom wall or forced her to go to math camp, but they do check her progress reports as soon as they’re sent home. The most my parents have ever done is ask if I need help from a tutor, and that’s when I still went to boarding school. I can’t picture them monitoring my computer time or peering over my shoulder every few minutes, but hey, different strokes.

Pops gives me a quick peck on the cheek, waving at Lydia as she drags me toward the door.

“Good luck today, girls,” he calls. “Text me once you get to school.”

The door slams behind us.

Claudia drives an old blue Ford Bronco, but I never sit in the front. I’m still not sure how Lydia is brave enough to do it, especially today. Whenever I get in the car with her, Claudia alternates between driving like she’s in The Fast and the Furious and driving like she has a flat tire.

“I’m surprised you still have your license,” I say, sliding into the center of the back seat. “Don’t you have a ton of tickets?”

“Oh, shut up,” she says, hands resting on the wheel. “If you think I’m so horrible, you can drive. Believe me, it’s not as easy as I make it look. Go take your driver’s test and find out.”

I could think of a witty comment to throw back at her, but I won’t. She’s being nicer than usual to Lydia today, which means all her snark needs to end up somewhere. I’m sure it’ll even out once we get this over with.