“Hey,” they both respond in unison. But they’re not even looking at me. I follow their gaze and spot Andrew kissing Lizzy Pearson. There are certain social hierarchies in high school that are finite and impenetrable, but somehow our old buddy Andrew found a way to break through them. And that meant not being friends with us anymore. By all accounts, he traded up.

“They’re never gonna last,” I declare. “By Thanksgiving, he’ll be hanging out with us again, and everything will go back to normal. I’m willing to bet money on it.”

No, he won’t, I think to myself. I am such a fucking liar.

GABRIELA

Parisa is such a fucking liar. We all know that Andrew will never hang out with us again. But she can’t help it. She has to manage her anxiety by being a “glass half full” kind of person. Sometimes it’s good for me to be around that type of energy… and other times, I want to shake the toxic positivity right out of her. She claims it’s because her parents were refugees and that their risking their lives to escape Iran helped give her perspective. I don’t tell her they’re the only refugees I know who own a three-story house in one of the most expensive cities in the entire world. But that’s how we’re different. She sees the silver lining. I see the cloud.

Since freshman year, Andrew, Wes, Parisa, and I have been a happily platonic foursome. Looking back, maybe Andrew—with his striking features and thick head of jet-black hair—always felt like he was slumming it with us. He and Parisa always dreamed of greener pastures that included going to parties and dances with the popular kids, but Parisa would never be the type to leave us behind. She’s the kind of girl who won’t forget her best friends, even when she’s wildly rich and winning Pulitzers.

But I’m not just upset Andrew abandoned us to date Lizzy Pearson. I’m upset about a million different things. I’m upset that, after all these years of knowing me, Parisa’s parents decided to drive me home in the middle of the night instead of letting me stay over. I’m upset that Reza woke up my moms and told them that we were caught with contraband, just so they could forever eye me suspiciously over the breakfast table. Right now, my parents act like it’s the booze and the drugs they’re upset about, but part of me has always suspected that they weren’t all that fond of Parisa or her family. They don’t want anyone around who makes them feel less than. They’ve had enough of people looking down on them.