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I clear my throat and lower my voice again. “I hate this.”

“So you’ve said.” She swipes a fry from Caleb’s tray and bats her long eyelashes at him when he growls like a territorial Chihuahua.

I bring my lips to her ear. “I’ve also said I like this guy, and you don’t seem to care about that, either.”

Nicole peeks through her hair at Jordan. “I suppose he’s less freakish without the faux-hawk and the eyeliner—I have no idea how you convinced him to do that.”

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t be naive. That man has markedly de-freaked in the past week, and you’re the reason. But I still don’t get it. Can you honestly tell me kissing someone with metal hoops in his lip doesn’t freak you out?”

Freak is the absolute last thing that comes to mind when Jordan’s lips meet mine.

“Please stop. I’m used to you bossing me around. You’ve been doing it since I was nine. But I won’t let you bully Jordan.”

“Bully? Me?” She presses her hand to her chest in an over-the-top dramatic gesture.

“I’m dead serious.”

“Fine.” She heaves out a breath. “I get it. I’ll be nicer to the frea—”

I stare at her for a few seconds, waiting for her to catch on.

“God, you’re so demanding.”

“Everyone says that about me.” I snort, because not a single person has ever said that about me.

Trey scoots his chair closer, scraping the metal legs against the concrete floor. “Says what?”

“How high maintenance she is.” Nicole reaches out and snatches one of his onion rings and dips it in his ketchup before stuffing it into her mouth.

“Oh yeah.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “I’m the worst.”

“No way. No one’s as bad as my Nicole.” Jeremy ambles over, grabs a chair from the table across from ours, and drops into it backward. He rests his chin on the back of the chair and gazes at Nicole as if she hung the damn moon. “Right, babe?”

A hush falls over the table as we anticipate Nicole’s fuse running out, but instead, she laughs and blows him a kiss. “You bet your ass. And don’t any of you forget it.”

“Kennedy?” Tyler stands up with his tray. “Can I walk you to your next class?”

“Oh, uh . . .” I glance at Jordan.

I’d hoped we could steal a few minutes to ourselves, but he refuses to make eye contact.

“Sure.” I concede. “I need to take my—”

“I’ll get that.” Caleb snatches the tray out of my hand, capsizing my barely touched lemonade.

The bottle lands upside down in my lap, and I jump out of my chair with a squeal as cold lemonade sloshes over my borrowed skirt.

Nicole jerks away from the splash, zeroing in on the liquid dripping down my front. “My skirt!”

“Ah, shit. Sorry.” Caleb grabs a pile of napkins from the table and pats me down like he’s searching for a weapon.

I brush his hand aside, but he’s persistent. “It’s fine. I can do it!”

He won’t take the hint, and part of me wonders if he orchestrated the whole thing in order to feel me up. “It’s my fault, I’ll—”

A dark shadow falls over us, and Jordan snatches the napkins from Caleb’s hands.