I’m tempted to flush my phone when I read Will’s latest message.

Hey robot. You. Me. The rest of the gang. HOMECOMING.

There’s no decision time required for my response.

No quacking way. Would rather eat fewmets.

Of course he replies in an instant even though he’s got a different lunch period than me and is probably supposed to be calculating derivatives right now.

COME ON. We’re SENIORS. It’s our civic duty. The dance is Gatsby-themed. We can do awesome costumes!!!

As if I could have missed the 1920s-style signs plastered all over school.

I reply: No. Squared. Ask Kitty. Gross as it is, they’d be cute together, and it would save me the awkwardness of spending an evening with Will’s friends. It’s not that I don’t like them, it’s just that even though they sometimes try to include me, I never feel like I belong. They have so many inside jokes, stories of things they’ve done together, and a universal obsession with Planet Quest. All I have is Will, but I’m okay with that. I don’t need anyone else — not now, anyway. I can make new friends after I put a few thousand miles between myself and the hipster lumberjack capital of the USA.

Will writes back: Can’t. She already said she’d go with Carlos as friends. You should eat lunch with her. She can tell you all about the after-party!

I roll my eyes even though there’s no one here to see.

He writes: You’re coming to Homecoming. Even Caroline is coming and she hates everyone. PLEASE. For your best friend.

Me: No.

Will: I’ll free you from the rest of your first-person shooter obligations.

I weigh the options, trying to decide whether attending a loud, stupid dance full of vacuous half-drunk morons is preferable to an hour and a half serving as Will’s meat shield in whichever game he chooses as my punishment.

I’ll think about it, I say. He’ll know it’s a lie, but he also shouldn’t expect to get more out of me.

As I fire off the text, two giggling girls burst into the bathroom. I freeze like a prey animal, then tiptoe forward to peer through the crack in the stall door. Syd and Erin, two of the vapid harpies Zoe hangs out with, zip over to the mirror to reapply makeup for reasons I can’t fathom; nothing looks wrong with what they’ve already got on. I retreat, hoping it won’t take too long to wait them out.