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“Oh, tell us more,” deadpans Jayden.

“Shut up, dork.”

Jayden’s head tips back, and he laughs. “I hear about this stuff all the time.”

“Um, hello.” Chloe arches an eyebrow. “You’re a cheerleader. And my boyfriend. Be supportive, okay?”

Jayden smacks a loud kiss on the cluster of freckles along Chloe’s cheek. She’s not easily embarrassed, not like me, but, when Jayden pulls back, pink blossoms across the bridge of her nose. She turns to tell Lucy something.

Yeah, they’rethat couple, like my parents. It’s the quarterback and the cheerleader. If I hadn’t known them both since middle school, I’d probably find their relationship ridiculously gross. It is, some days, but I’m willing to tolerate it for the sake of friendship.

Also, I was probably just as bad with…Not going there, a tiny voice in my mind says.

“Oh my god, don’t record me eating,” groans Rio, holding a hand over her mouth.

“This is for official business.”

“Instagram is officially bullshit.” Rio crumbles a napkin and tosses it at Alex.

Alex and Zac Liu document everything on their phones. They’re hardcore social media junkies. Technically, they’re not supposed to have their phones out but have been granted special permission from Principal Moon as co-managers ofThe Leaf. I swearthat blog is just a circle of hell where students rant about sports, the weather, their least favorite teachers, and whatever other useless crap they can get away with.

All the serious posts come from Rio. She’s the only one with the guts to dig into Maplewood’s dark side. Not that a place like Maplewood has some seedy underbelly of shame and crime and sex scandals. I mean, she’s not blogging about what—orwho—went down at Andrew Cowen’s last party. The most illegal thing going on around the halls is students buying weed from Alex and Zac.

“Newsflash,” says Lucy, slouching low enough to rest her head on my shoulder, “Mondays suck the hardest. I’m already tired.”

I prop my chin on her head.

“Too much overachieving is detrimental to a teen,” says Jayden.

Lucy flips him off.

“Oh my god, stop with all the advanced-placement terms,” I groan.

“Says the nerd in AP Lit.” Rio snorts.

“Hey,” I retort, waving a ketchup packet in her face, “We both know I’m taking this course to get into Emory. Any other AP class would’ve been a total failure of our educational system. There’s no way I should be in advancedanything.”

“I concur,” Sara says.

Sara Awad is exceptionally gifted with her sarcasm. I’m jealous of that talent. I’m also jealous of how she’s always so well put together. Perfect eyeliner frames wide, sparkling brown eyes. A long nose and sharp cheekbones contrast with crescent-moon dimples and rare sightings of acne. Today, her pale-rose hijab juxtaposes perfectly with her light-blue top, like the beginning of a sunset against a late-summer sky.

“Thanks, Sara,” I say.

“I’m always here to validate your basicness.”

Damn, she’sgood.

I haven’t known Sara as long as Rio, Lucy, Jayden or Chloe. She came as a package-deal with the Liu twins. She’s not an asshole, just guarded. I guess we all are. We’re not consciously trying to be this table of Diversity Rocks in Maplewood’s ocean of suburban realness. Maybe a hint of solidarity brought us together? Maybe it’s because we mesh well.

I mean, it’s not as if a giant sign over us says, “Sit here if you’re anything other thanInsert Stereotypical Teen!” There are plenty of other kids—from all kinds of backgrounds and races—that sit elsewhere. We fit together because welikeeach other, not because we fill the Check Other category.

Sara cocks her head at Lucy. “You look pretty good for a zombie.”

“Thanks.” Lucy winks, popping a tater tot in her mouth.

Sara drops her chin; her cheeks are slightly red. I think I’m the only one who notices. I’m also confident that I’m the only one who knows Sara’s secret.

She has a crush on Lucy.