Page 49

McKenna: YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE CLASS ON FRIDAYS

Riley: EMOTIONAL TEXTBOOKS. FOR MY MENTAL HEALTH.

Clearly, I raised a future lawyer. I’m not sure whose future she’ll be ruining, but she’ll be billing by the hour.

McKenna: I’M TELLING MOM

Riley: I’LL TELL MOM MYSELF (screenshot evidence of the twenty-dollar Venmo transaction with the note “costume money thanks sis”)

McKenna: TRAITOR

Why so many caps? I’m about to intervene when another message pops up.

McKenna: also Jack asked me to the Halloween party

Riley: JACK ASKED ME TO THE HALLOWEEN PARTY

McKenna: liar

Riley: check YOUR texts

McKenna: YOU check YOUR texts

Riley: OMG he asked us both

McKenna: this is a disaster

Riley: agreed

McKenna: what do we do

Riley: rock paper scissors?

McKenna: best two out of three?

Riley: deal

I’m watching this unfold with the horrified fascination usually reserved for slow-motion car crashes when Clyde joins the chat. Because apparently my morning needed a fourth act.

Clyde: Girls, I need to talk to you about something serious.

McKenna: dad we’re in the middle of a crisis

Riley: yeah can this wait

Clyde: Crystal dumped me.

The chat goes silent for approximately three seconds, which in college-girl text time is roughly a geological era.

McKenna: oh no dad I’m so sorry

Riley: are you okay?

Clyde: No. I’m not okay. She left me for Greg Mitchum.

McKenna: who’s Greg Mitchum?

Clyde: THE STATION MANAGER. The man who controls my entire career. My show, my time slot, my LIFE.