Amy. Amy, Amy, Amy. It’s all about Amy. She’s all you talk about—more like complain about. Amy came late to practice? Snooze. Amy argued with the coach? Boooring.

All of this was repetitious to Nika, but she listens anyway because she just likes you so much. But, you haven’t seemed to notice because you’re so focused on damn Amy.

Nika huffs, leaning into you. “Amy is stupid. Let’s not waste our time talking about her,” she says, placing a hand on your knee.

And of course, the naive, oblivious girl you are, you look right past it and smile gratefully.

Damn it.