I'm ready to snap my pencil in half the fifth time I feel a rolled up wad of notebook paper bounce off my forehead.

"Remi," I hiss to the girl sitting next to me, throwing a glare in her direction, "quit it!" She frowns, her brown hair tied back in a messy ponytail, pen drumming against the cover of her textbook.

I'm so bored, she mouths and sticks out her lower lip in a pout. I roll my eyes but can't help the smile that fleets my lips as she comically sinks lower in the auditorium seat and rolls her fingers against her temples, her eyes widening to the size of saucers as she continues to stare down Professor Lee droning on and on about Quantum Field Theory.

"I'm going to myself if we aren't outta here in three minutes." She utters to no one in particular, mumbling and continuing to rub the sides of her head.

"Please don't poop here. That's what the toilet is for." I whisper back.

Remi snorts. "Shut the hell up."

My friendship with Kim Remi is, well, anything but friendship. Having met her at the very first day of fifth grade, we hit it off right away with a heated discussion of ponies, rainbow scrunchies, and which Powerpuff Girl was our favorite. Buttercup kicks , by the way.

We flew through junior high practically melded to each other's side, and when fall of senior year rolled around with the daunting task of sending off college applications, we made it our goal to stick together no matter what. With our nightly study rituals at the public library, (Remi once bribed a custodian with an extra candy bar into letting us stay overnight) the utter hellish standardized testing, and the countless mental breakdowns and tears shed over deadlines and extra curriculars and homework and letters of recommendation and grade point averages and part time jobs and lack of sleep, we landed ourselves at Cornell University, the most prestigious institution in all of New York. Very much little fish big pond type of deal.

So, yes, you could call Remi my sister from another mister.

She digs into her bag and pulls out her phone to unlock it. The click of the slider seems to echo throughout the atrium and she cringes, hastily turning off the ringer with fumbling fingers.

"What're you doing?"

"Ordering McDonald's delivery." She deadpans and continues to type away on the screen, the backlight illuminating her face. Only in New York City can you get artery clogging, grease soaked grub sent right to your doorstep. Ah, the Big Apple.

"Can't you wait at least until we're out of class?"

"Ooh!" She squeals and the person next to her diligently scribbling down notes shoots her a look of annoyance, "You can add extra toppings now, yeeeeeees, now I won't look like an idiot for holding up the line when the cashier always asks me why I want extra cheese on my cheeseburger. Extra pickles for you, right Lola?"

I ignore my futile attempts to reason with her untimely eating habits and shake my head. "Nah, I'm not really in the mood for burgers right now. Just get me a Mcflurry, or something."

She wrinkles her nose. "See, that's what I don't get about you, Lo. Who the orders ice cream from a burger joint?"

"Um, a lot of people? Why else would they have it?"

"Yeah, but just because they sell sushi at gas stations doesn't mean you should buy it either?"

I scoff and swat her on the arm. "Hey, I'm not the one who gets brownie bits on rainbow sherbet. That's just messed up."

She gasps in mock surprise and recoils. "You monster. That's it, I'm not getting you your Oreo McFlurry."

"No, no. Remi, please. You know how I am when I don't have sugar before Calculus," I whine.

"Beg me, Park Lola. Maybe then I'll reconsider your forgiveness."

"Please, please, please, please, please, please, please with extra whipped cream and sprinkles and a cherry on top, Reeeem-"

"Okay, okay," she gives in with a wave of her hand to shut me up and I pump my fist in victory. A few more taps and she smiles before tossing the phone back into her bag.

"Sweet. Food's on the way. Time to actually start paying attention. Let me peek at your notes because you love me and I just bought you food, yeah?"

--

Fifteen minutes later, we're sprawled in a study lounge with a greasy paper bag between us.

"I literally hate physics with my whole being," Remi groans and pops a fry into , "like, it's just gravity, you know? We don't need to prove that with equations. It's already hard enough without throwing a storm of numbers and words together."

"It's just math but with more variables," I chortle and frown at the fact that my ice cream has melted a little.

"Ugh, don't even remind me. I didn't do the derivatives homework last night for a reason."

"Want me to help you?"

"Nah, it's ok. I'd rather just..not....do it."

"Says the Economics major," I snort, "did you get me nuggets?"

Remi passes me a small cardboard carton. "Math in Economics is easy because it's actually relevant and relates to business," she gestures with a bendy straw, "that I can do. Not like, 'how many watermelons did Harold buy if he bought x number of oranges?' or finding imaginary numbers and limitations. What even is an imaginary number? If it's imaginary, why does it always have a value? Why can't Harold control his binge buying in supermarkets?"

"Stop," I laugh, "it's too early to get all technical."

"Speaking of which, what're you wearing for the party tonight?" she muffles around her mouthful of burger. I feel my brows disappear into my hairline.

". I completely forgot about that."

She swallows and wags a finger through the air in disappointment, "Tsk, tsk, Lola. The Conclave throws killer parties, you better get your together if you wanna look hot."

I dramatically run a hand through my hair, "I always look hot," my fingers snag a knot and Remi nearly sprays Coke through her nose. I make a face at her and steal a handful of her fries. "What I want to know is who exactly you're going to these frat parties with to know they're so hype."

"No one because you know I have no friends besides you," she sighs and throws her arms around my middle, resting her head on my shoulder, "I just happen to check Twitter 24/7 and coincidentally stumble across their page every time," another dramatic sigh, "also Seulgi might have taken me to one that weekend you had the flu."

French flies and crumbs go flying as I sit up and she cackles as I slug her repeatedly.

H E L L O everyone! we back agaaaaain noooowww dUUUUN DUN DUN DUN DUN DDUUUUUn

okay. stop.

So! This is the gang story I've been cooking up for a while when I asked you guys which group you wanted to see as the main :))))) starlights 5ever

but yeah. I already have this whole baby planned out and a good chunk already written so sit back and sub and enjoy the ride kids ;)