His object lesson disintegrates when he makes the mistake of involving Kenzie’s jockface boyfriend as an example, since he is the only red in a sea of yellows. Either way, he doesn’t seem to understand that he’s the loner in Mr. Bernard’s analogy and takes the opportunity to stand on one of the lab tables, shouting, “Seniors rule!”

Asad leans close to me. He smells like vanilla and coconuts, which is a decidedly feminine aroma, probably from his mother’s or his sister’s shampoo, and somehow the idea that he uses their products makes him even more adorable.

I force myself to look at the squiggling mealworms to get my mind off the idea of him in the shower. Rum Tum Tugger, the smallest of the bunch, has already scrunched himself into a little alien-like ball. I mark “pupa stage” on our observation sheet.

“Okay, so here’s the skinny from the drama grapevine,” Asad says. The fluorescent lights illuminate a deep bruise running purple along his jaw and fading yellow into his cheek. “First, my social capital is through the roof. My fight has catapulted me to the top of the stage-crew social ladder, which is admittedly about three rungs high, but still, I’m like a drama-geek hero. Tony even high-fived me in the hallway this morning.” Asad beams at me, leaning closer. I try not to inhale. “Oh, and second, Kenzie wants you gone.”

“I know. My existence offends her.”

Asad shakes his head and explains he doesn’t mean in some existential way. She’s started a petition to remove me from the play because I’m not a “team player.”

That’s why she ignored me this morning. She’s got bigger plans than a little hair pulling in the hallway.

“Ugh,” I groan. “I’d rather just get this over with by slapping each other around a bit and calling it good.”

“Is that an option?” Asad says. “That’s definitely something I’d like to see.”

“Perv.”

He holds his hands up guiltily. “What? What red-blooded American boy can pass up a girl fight?”

I hide my smile by pretending to search for something in my backpack.

“Don’t worry, Ava,” he says. “A lot of people are on your side.”

“I have a side?”

“Oh yeah, I haven’t seen the drama club so divided since the great orchestra/a cappella debacle of freshman year. A lot of people believe you should have won those tickets and you have every right to stay.”

The thought of the cast and crew deciding whether I stay or go twists my stomach. I’ve only been here two months. If people are picking sides, who will pick mine?

I get through the morning, still expecting a Kenzie attack every time I cross her path. When a food fight breaks out between the ketchup-throwing seniors and the mustard-wielding juniors at lunch, I’m sure she’ll condiment-slosh me from behind.