“Let me guess.” She taps her finger against her temple. “Your locker-wrapping best friends are actually manipulative bitches?” I look up at her from under my eyelashes. “Sometimes. Is it that obvious?” “You can take in a lot of information from a few lockers away.” She scoots back into her chair and slides down, kicking her legs out in front of her and crossing them at the ankles, mirroring my posture exactly. “You know what you need?” I don’t answer her, and after a long pause she says, “Nicer friends.”
I think Caroline will be a better friend than the Eights.
