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“Just seems so pointless,” I say sweetly, “since we both know you’ll still be writing it five minutes before class starts. If you write it at all.”

His smile stays firmly affixed, but I can see it’s becoming weary. “Always a pleasure, Prudence.” He gives me a one-fingered salute before he and Morgan head off to their table.

“Ugh,” I groan. “You know he’s going to forget. And the worst part? Mr. Chavez will give him a pass, like he always does. It’s—”

“Infuriating,” Ari and Jude parrot together.

I huff. “Well, it is.” I wake up the laptop. It takes me a minute to remember what I was writing about.

“Don’t kill me for saying this,” says Ari, “but he didn’t seem all that bad?”

“He’s not,” says Jude. “Terrible lab partner, maybe, but still a nice guy.”

“Terrible is the understatement of the year. I honestly don’t know what I did to deserve such karmic punishment.”

“Oh!” Ari’s eyes brighten. “That gives me an idea.” She pulls the songbook toward her and begins flipping pages.

Jude and I look at each other, but don’t ask what song she’s looking for. Jude grabs his drink and finishes it off in one long swig. “I need to get going. I’m supposed to meet the guys at seven to start planning our next campaign.” His brow furrows as he looks at Ari. “Do you really think you’ll sing? Because I could probably stay, if you need moral support.”

She waves a hand at him. “I’ll be fine. Go explore your goblin-infested dungeons or whatever it is.”

“Kobold-infested, actually,” says Jude, sliding from the booth. “And I’ve got some great ideas for booby traps in this campaign, too. Plus, you know, there will probably be a dragon.”

“Can never have too many dragons,” says Ari, still scanning the songbook.

I consider asking what a kobold is, but I’m not sure I have the brain spacefor one of Jude’s over-enthused explanations, so I just smile. “It’s not called Dungeons and Dragons for nothing.”

“They have it!” says Ari, swiveling the book around and pointing. “I know you know this song.”

I’m expecting her to have picked something by the Beatles, but instead she’s pointing at the title of a song from John Lennon’s solo career: “Instant Karma! (We All Shine On).”

“Oh yeah, that’s a good one,” says Jude, leaning over the table to see. “You could pull it off, Pru.”

“I’m not singing.”

Ari and Jude both raise their eyebrows at me.

“What?”

Ari shrugs and pulls the book away again. “I just thought maybe you’d want to prove Quint wrong.”

I lift an angry finger. “I have nothing to prove to him.”

“Of course you don’t,” says Jude, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “But there’s nothing wrong with showing people that you can do more than get straight As. That you can actually, you know”—he takes a step back, maybe worried that I’m going to smack him, and whispers—“have fun.”

I glare at him. “I do know how to have fun.”

“Iknow that,” says Jude. “But even you have to admit that it’s a pretty well-guarded secret.”

FIVE

Jude leaves, and I try to focus on my paper. I only have a few more sentences to wrap it up, but it’s slow-going. Jude’s words are in my head and, to my endless annoyance, so are Quint’s.Loosen up. Have fun.

I can feel Ari giving me the occasional uncertain look. She’s the most empathetic person I’ve ever known and can always tell when someone is upset. But she also knows that I’ll talk when I’m ready, and to nudge won’t usually get her anywhere. So we work in silence—me finishing up the paper, and her jotting words down in her notebook. Well,silenceis a relative term, given the various levels of singing prowess that continue to assail our ears. Some of the singers are actually pretty good. One guy performs the newest Bruno Mars single, then one of the women from the next table does a jaw-dropping Cher impersonation. But other performers are less than stellar. There’s a lot of mumbling and discomfort and staring awkwardly at the screen projecting the words.

I have a theory about karaoke, one I developed way back during our family karaoke nights. No one in the audience is expecting the next Beyoncé to show up onstage, but if you’re going to get up there, you have to at least try to be entertaining. If you have a great singing voice, awesome. Belt it out. But if you don’t, then you have to make up for it somehow. Dance. Smile. Make eye contact with the audience. Look like you’re having fun, even if you’re terrified, and it will carry your performance a lot further than you’d think.

“There,” I say, shutting the computer. “Last assignment of the year. Check.” I take a swig of my Shirley Temple, which I’ve been neglecting. It tastes a little watered down, but the rush of syrupy cherry deliciousness feels like a well-deserved reward.