“Damn, woman!” Will says after the fourth time I massacre a pack of squirrel monsters with far more violence than is necessary. They make sad, pathetic squeaky sounds when they die, popping into little tufts of fur that get blown away in the wind. It’s oddly satisfying.

“Don’t call me ‘woman,’” I say. My character in the game sheathes her sword and shakes open a treasure box left behind by the monsters. A dialogue box pops up that says “TRAP!”

Will groans as a second round of squirrel monsters explodes out of the treasure chest. These ones look like cute little robots, with little glowing antennae protruding from their adorable foreheads. It makes me think of Zoe and of Ethan and the spectacle in the quad. The burst of fury in my chest is instant and all-consuming.

“Fuckadoodledoo, shithooks,” I say to the robosquirrels. Will scrambles to keep up, casting cure spells over and over as I throw myself into the fray with little regard for my character’s hit points.

“Dude. Is everything okay?” Will asks.

His question tugs a little at something that could undo me.

“I guess things suck slightly more than usual,” I finally say as I mass murder more woodland creatures.

“What happened?” he asks.

I’m surprised Kitty or Carlos didn’t already tell him about lunch. Surely they saw what went down — Ethan wasn’t exactly subtle.

“Some jerks reminded me today why I don’t eat lunch in the quad,” I say. Of course there’s more, but I don’t really want to talk about Kitty, or Planet Quest Con, or how scared I am of my best friend slipping away.

“Who said something? I told Kitty to be nice.” Will’s character gets chomped as he turns to look at me.

“No one at that table. Just some other assholes,” I say. “Sometimes I really hate school. I don’t know how I’m going to survive the rest of this year.”

“You have enough credits to graduate early,” Will says. “Why don’t you just do that? You’d be done in, like, a month.”

“The only thing worse than school is home,” I say. “Where would I go?”

“You could always move in with me. My parents would be totally cool with that. They love you.”

“Ha,” I say. Mostly I think they probably just appreciate my neuroses, which made me a strong contrast with Will’s overenthusiastic and less cautious nature when they taught us both to drive. I also appreciate the hell out of Will’s parents. If not for them, I wouldn’t have my license. Every time I bugged Mom to take me out to practice driving, it set her off into a routine spiral and there would be some excuse why she couldn’t.