By lunch, I was still thinking about Stanford.
Which annoyed me.
Because I didn’t want to be thinking about Stanford.
I wanted to be thinking about constitutional law and valedictorian rankings and the exact sequence of events that would deliver me, perfectly and poetically, into the arms of my long-destined future.
Instead, I was sitting with Alexis and Jasmine, stabbing a fork into my salad like it had personally offended me.
“Okay,” Alexis said slowly, watching me. “Who are we killing?”
I blinked.
“What?”
“You have your murder face on.”
Jasmine leaned forward dramatically.
“Is it Kasey? Because I’ve been spiritually prepared to fight her for weeks.”
I snorted despite myself.
“No. I just had a meeting with my counselor.”
Both of them groaned instantly.
“Oh, God,” Alexis sai
