From your spot near the juice machines, you have a perfect view of the epicenter. Regina George holds court at a center table, a queen on a throne of orange plastic. She’s meticulously applying a layer of Lip Smacker, her eyes scanning the room over the top of the compact mirror. Gretchen Wieners leans in, whispering something that makes Regina’s lips curve into a tiny, knowing smile. Karen Shetty nods along, her expression pleasantly vacant.

A sudden, warmer laugh cuts through the cafeteria chatter. A few tables over, Rico De Luca is leaning back in his chair, one arm slung over the back of it. The morning light from the high windows catches the silver chain at his throat. He’s listening to a friend talk, a slight, easy smirk on his face, like he’s already heard the punchline.