.

ugly laughter, but Mr Richardson is too busy reminiscing about the alpaca who stole his protein bar to scold me.

      Carson looks genuinely pleased with my seal of approval and smiles broadly, tiny dimples setting into his smooth brown skin. The black shirt he’s wearing is tight around his arms and shoulders – he’s the star player on the varsity basketball team and is in tremendous shape – and his blue beanie hat is slightly lopsided.

      Even though we haven’t talked much, I feel like I already know Carson. Like, as a person. Is that weird? We have a ton in common – we’ll both do anything for a laugh, and if the rumors are anything to go by, his family isn’t exactly rolling in cash either. In fact, I think I might remember seeing him at the soup kitchen a few years back, when Betty had the shingles and couldn’t work for a bit. [That was a dark time for our dental hygiene. When you’re super broke, toothpaste is the first luxury item to go. Ajita blessedly snuck her tube into school with her so I could do damage control before first period.]

      So yeah, Carson Manning. He’s good people. And not exactly terrible to look at.

      Interesting development.

      11.58 a.m.

      On the way to our last period of the morning, Danny, Ajita and I stop by my locker to grab a textbook I dumped there last week and haven’t looked at since. The halls are pretty busy with people shoving their way to different classes, and the general squeak of sneakers on linoleum echoes around.

      We reach my locker, and I’m barely paying attention as I enter my combination since I’m too busy trying to figure out what the hell’s up with my lifelong pal. But as soon as I open it, something soft and dark red tumbles out and hits the deck. Baffled, I reach down to scoop it up off the floor. It’s a sweater I’ve never seen before, though immediately recognize the embroidered logo on the front. Gryffindor. My Hogwarts house.

      “What the hell?” I murmur. “Who put this there? Have I got the wrong locker?”

      Then I see the bow ribbon gift tag lying next to my sneakers on the floor. It’s a gift.

      Only two people other than me know my locker combination: Danny and Ajita.

      Danny shifts his feet and stares at the ground.

      Ajita puts two and two together almost as quickly as I do. “Hey, Danny,” she says, a mischievous grin on her face. “Remember that time in fourth grade when you got so excited over the new Harry Potter movie that you vomited all over yourself ?”

      Instead of retorting with a quick-fire clap-back like he usually would, Danny goes all weird and bumbly, muttering some solid curse words that’d definitely get him and his entire family thrown out of their church.

      Frowning, Ajita nudges his shoulder. “Come on, I was only kidding. Well, I wasn’t because you actually did that. But there’s no need to drop so many f-bombs.”

      Danny looks homicidal. He just huffily folds his arms and stares at his feet. Jeez. Where’s his sense of humor gone?

      1.25 p.m.

      It’s Danny’s turn for a careers session with Rosenqvist this lunchtime, so while he’s off justifying his plan to become a hotshot surgeon, despite his mediocre GPA, Ajita and I take the opportunity to talk through his erratic behavior of late.

      [Okay, so now that I’m turning this into a book I know I’m supposed to describe everything in great detail in order for my readers to be able to visualize the scene, but really, it’s a school cafeteria – you all know what they look like and, if you don’t, I really don’t think it’s on me to educate you. It’s loud and plastic and smells like old microwaved cheese.]

      Ajita bites into her veggie hot dog and studies me intently. “I have to say it, dude. And I know it’ll make you cringe, and I know you’ll disagree vehemently on account of your fundamental distrust in my judgment, but I think it’s fairly obvious what’s happening here.”

      “It is?” My own meat-filled hot dog is slathered with enough hot mustard to kill a small horse. My nostrils sting fierily.

      “The guy’s blatantly harboring a newfound crush on you. It’s thrown him way off guard since he’s known you for, like, a million years, but now he’s developing The Feels and is unclear how to proceed.”

      I mull this over. “So he just keeps buying me an assortment of beverages and novelty sweaters, and complimenting personality traits he’s previously expressed extreme disgust at, all in the hope that I will somehow fall in love with him in return?”

      The sweater sits in my lap like a warm cat, but I feel guilty every time I look at it. Danny and I used to watch Harry Potter movies all the time, whenever I stayed over at his house. Ajita didn’t arrive on the friendship scene until middle school, and in those early days it was just Danny and me against the world. And Harry Potter was our thing. We escaped to Hogwarts whenever we could.

      “Look, I never said he was particularly subtle with his tactics,” Ajita says through a mouthful of hot dog. Pieces of bun spray everywhere as she talks. It’s delightful. I wish I’d brought some sort of umbrella or shield-type object. “I just think he’s in trouble in the romance department.”

      Before I can express my complete disgust and horror at the situation, an extraordinarily tall girl I don’t recognize plonks her tray down next to Ajita and smiles familiarly. She’s got insanely curly auburn hair and freckled white cheeks.

      “Hey, Ajita,” she says cheerily. “Hey, Izzy.”

      Pardon me?

      “Iz, this is Carlie,” Ajita says, suddenly staring intently at the ravaged remains of her hot dog. I can only assume this ashamed expression translates as: I am so sorry, dearest Izzy, for having people in my life you do not know about, for I understand how rude and inappropriate this is considering we’re meant to be best friends, and I can only endeavor to be a better pal in future, one who keeps you abreast of any and all new friendship developments as and when they unfold, lest I be condemned to an eternity in geography class a.k.a. hell.

      You know, something like that.

      But really, WTF ? Ajita and I inform each other of every single minor thing that ever happens to us, including but not limited to: bowel movements, disappointing meals, new and freakishly long hairs we find on our bodies. So it’s utterly implausible that she knows mysterious tall and pretty people and just forgets to mention it to me.

      [On closer inspection, it is possible I have friend jealousy.]

      “Hi, Carlie,” I finally reply, once I’ve gotten over the unspeakable betrayal of the situation.

      She smiles, all straight white teeth and naturally pink lips. “Nice to finally meet you.”

      FINALLY????

      I repeat. WTF ?

      “So, Ajita,” she says, spearing some lettuce on her fork and crunching into it loudly. Seriously, she is eating a salad. I’m not kidding. An actual salad. I was not aware this was a thing people did in real life. “Are you looking forward to tennis trials later?”

      I absolutely die laughing at this, to the point where I am so hysterical I fear a little bit of fart might slip out.

      Both Ajita and Carlie stare at me as though I’m having some kind of seizure. Without, you know, making sure I’m not in any immediate physical danger. All I’m saying is they’re not the sort of people you want around in a potential medical emergency.

      Once I finally wipe my tears away, I splutter, “Ajita? Sports? Tennis?? You must be new here.”

      “Actually, I am new here,” Carlie replies, popping a cherry tomato in her mouth. A fucking cherry tomato! Can you even imagine!

      Ajita clears her throat. “Erm, Iz, I actually . . . I thought I might go and try out. I think I might quite enjoy tennis. Serena Williams makes it look like an excellent thing to do.” A sheepish smile. “Carlie’s the new captain.”