“I’m going to kick that bitch’s ass,” Jasmine says, grabbing her coat off the rack by the door and sliding her arms into it.

“It’s one in the morning,” Simone says nervously, her eyes moving back and forth between Jasmine and me.

“So?” Jasmine says, pushing her hair out from under the back of her black leather jacket. “That’s good. She won’t be expecting me to kick the shit out of her this late at night, so I’ll have an advantage.” Jasmine just got home from work and finished listening carefully while Simone and I filled her in on the Kelly debacle. She read the article and then promptly announced she was going to find Kelly and fight her.

“But you’re in your Hooters uniform,” I point out. I’m lying on the couch, my legs up in the air and my head hanging over the side, seeing how long it will take for all the blood to rush to my head. For some reason, I see this as a fun game. I’m obviously a loser.

“So?” Jasmine asks again, sounding exasperated.

“So that’s not the best outfit to get in a fight with,” I say. “A lot of your skin’s exposed, so she’ll be able to, like, scratch you and stuff. You should wear track pants. And a hoodie. Black ones. To blend in with the night.” She looks down, considering. “Plus,” I add, “your muscles might cramp up since it’s so cold out. Because of all the exposed skin. And if you go to jail, you most certainly don’t want to be dressed like that. You’ll be in big trouble, for a lot of reasons.”

“Y’all aren’t serious,” Simone says. “You’re not going to really hurt her.”

“Why not?” Jasmine says. “She messed with my girls. And me.”

“But you’ll get kicked off the show,” Simone says. “It was in the contract we signed: ‘I will not cause bodily harm to others or myself.’”

“Good point,” I say, still upside down.

“Besides, she’s not worth it,” Simone says from the chair where she’s sitting.

“Fine,” Jasmine says, taking her coat back off. “For now. But I reserve the right to go after her at a later time, if I so choose.”

She sits down next to me and surveys the spread of ice cream, brownies, chips, and drinks that’s laid out before us. Calories I’ve consumed within the last two hours: 20,317.

“What is this?” Jasmine asks, picking up a glass and taking a sip.

“Diet Coke with Lime,” Simone says.

“You just lost your virginity, then got dumped and outted in the school paper, and you guys are drinking soda?” She looks disgusted. “I have so much to teach you two.”