“Whatever, punk.” Owen shoves Will, who shoves him back, and when Owen shoves Will back again, Will stumbles into Sam, who shoves Will back into Owen, who shoves Sam, who shoves him, and then, as if in response to some kind of secret signal that only they can hear, they all stop shoving each other and start straightening out their shirts. I swear. I really don’t get guys sometimes.

Will turns to me and asks, “So what the hell is wrong with you, CJ? What are you doing with Ruffles on your plate when there are perfectly good SunChips on the table?”

“I like Ruffles,” I say.

“You can’t like Ruffles,” says Sam. “It’s not allowed. Not if you want to be friends with us.”

“Hmm,” I say, crunching a delicious chip. “Ruffles”—I hold one up and contemplate it—“or you guys. This could be tough.”

“I recommend the Ruffles,” Owen stage-whispers near my ear, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Those bozos are not a wise choice.”

“You’re a Ruffles person?” I ask.

“What, you’re surprised? Aren’t all decent people Ruffles people?”

“My friend Emily is Team SunChips,” I tell Will and Sam. “She’s just as deluded as you guys. See her?” I turn to face the spot where I left Emily and Fiona. “She’s that girl with the brown hair, talking with that cute curly-haired girl over—”

Wait. That’s not how I left them.

There’s Emily playing with her hair and smiling politely. There’s Fiona, also smiling politely. Neither of them are talking, though, because there’s a third person there who’s doing all the talking. A tall, athletic girl with long auburn hair.

Brynn. The Latinx girl she was talking to earlier is now holding hands with an Asian girl on the couch, totally forgotten.

God. I turn my back for one minute.

“Hang on a sec. I’ll just get her and bring her over.”

I put my plate down and hurry over to Emily. “Hey, Em!” I call. “Fiona!” All three of them look over at me, and I could swear that Brynn tenses up.

I take Emily’s hand and motion for Fiona to follow us.

“I just need Em and Fiona for a sec. Very important chip-related business.” I smile and give Brynn what I hope looks like a casual nod.

Okay, I know it’s disrespectful and rude. But she deserves to be on the receiving end of a little disrespect every once in a while. It’s good for her.

In the car on the way home, Emily and I do a postmortem of the evening.

“So. You did it, Em! Total success.”

“Yeah, right? Your flower magic worked!”

“It wasn’t the flowers. It was you being you. Did you get Fiona’s number? You’d make a great couple.”

“Oh my god, Ceej,” she groans.