She’s staring at her screen now, fingers poised above the keys as if she’s waiting for something to happen.

“Maybe if you flip upside down the creativity will fall to the top of your brain,” I suggest.

“Ha-ha.” She makes a face at me. “Thank you for finally contributing to the group.”

Next to me on the couch, Robbie is ignoring us, clearly checking his email.

“No, I’m serious,” I say. “I learned it in my ‘design thinking’ class. East Coast style is different.”

She sticks her tongue out at me, a surprisingly young reaction from someone who likes to pretend she’s already thirty. It’s so out of character that it’s kind of charming.

“Are you making fun of me?” she asks.

“Not at all.” I smile slyly. “It’s a real technique.”

“Okay, fine.” She looks at me with I dare you in her eyes, closes her laptop carefully and sets it on the seat next to her. She flips over, swinging her legs up to rest against the back of the couch, her head hanging off the end, blond hair pooling on the floor.

I snort, and Robbie looks up from his email, confused, before breaking into the biggest smile I’ve seen on him since we became part of this godforsaken group.

For a second I almost forget how much I don’t want to be here. My phone buzzes again. Almost.

I stand without a word and start packing my bag. Maybe they won’t notice I’m gone if I make my exit stealthily.

“What are you doing?” Sara’s eyes narrow.

“Uh, leaving.” I continue to pack my things.

Her jaw drops, or, I guess lifts, as she is upside down. The amusement of a moment ago pops like a soap bubble. She scrambles back up to sit normally.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Her voice is angry, but in a calm way. She doesn’t yell. “You take three follow-up emails before you respond to anything, you show up late to meetings to shoot down ideas and call me babe and Blondie more often than my name. And now you want to leave early, two weeks before we’re presenting? Give me one reason why we shouldn’t kick you out of our group right now.”

“Because I’m all you’ve got.” I sling my messenger bag over my shoulder. “You need three people in your group, and no grad student is going to join two freshmen without an idea, no matter how many ‘ideation’ charts you make.”

Robbie sighs. “He’s right.”

“So you’re really going to leave?” she asks.

I check my phone, quickly responding that I’m on my way. “What?” I shrug. “It’s the biggest party of the year—you don’t expect me to stay here, do you?”

“And yet you expect us to?” she snaps back.