CLARISSA’S POV
Zaya won’t stop talking about that football player again. I sit with her and Jemma in the cafeteria, half-listening as I pick at my food. She’s going on and on about his new haircut, his latest game, and how amazing he looks in his uniform. Jemma nods absentmindedly, too busy texting someone. I don’t have to guess who it is.
Jemma’s been glued to her phone lately, always typing away with the slightest smile on her lips. I know exactly who’s on the other end of that screen. Pinky.
I don’t trust that girl. How convenient of her and Jemma to be a thing after she asked for an interview. I have a feeling Pinky has something up her sleeve and Jemma is too naïve to see it.
“So,” I say casually, turning toward Jemma. “How are things going between you and Pinky?”
Jemma’s fingers
