THE FIRST THREE periods of the day go by without a hitch. In chemistry class, the teacher was out sick. She left our assignments on the board for the substitute, but one of the slackers erased them. The sub didn’t have a hard copy, so the period turned into study hall. At Adams that means pop in your earbuds and listen to music or play games on your phone.
When I arrived at English, my teacher handed out pop quizzes as we walked into the classroom. I’m not great at recalling details about topics that don’t interest me—like The Metamorphosis, the gross novella we’re reading about a man who turns into a cockroach. But on today’s quiz, I actually knew most of the answers.
Third period is always the easiest part of my day, aside from lunch. My art teacher, Mrs. Degan, encourages us to experiment and set our own artistic parameters. She says we could be one brushstroke away from genius, the way her last name is only one letter away from Degas. I spent the class period working on my current work of genius, an attempt at a cubist self-portrait that makes me look like a LEGO minifigure.
The letter from UNC feels like a good luck charm in my pocket.
For once, I’m not cursing the fact that I have first lunch—or breakfast, as most people would call a meal you eat at ten fifty-five in the morning.
On my way to meet Tess on the quad, I call Reed, but his phone goes straight to voice mail. I don’t bother leaving a message. He’s probably still asleep or I would’ve heard from him by now. He can’t go more than a few hours without calling or texting me, and he knows I was waiting for a letter.
Maybe I’ll ask him if he wants to skip the party tonight. Things have been off between us. Some alone time together is just what we need to get back on track.
* * *
The diner is already packed when Tess and I get there. Seniors are allowed to eat lunch off campus, and this place quickly became our go-to spot. It’s a huge step up from the vending machine selections we were stuck with last year, unless we wanted to risk eating the mystery meals in the cafeteria.
We squeeze past the people waiting for seats at the counter.
Tess points at a booth in the back corner. “Lucia and Gwen found a table.”
Our friends are leaning across the table talking, their faces obscured by almost identical curtains of long, brown, spiral curls. They’re the same height and body type, and from this angle they could pass for twins. But the similarities end with their hair.
Lucia is Afro-Latina, with Puerto Rican roots, and her skin is a rich coppery brown that makes Gwen’s pale, rosy Irish complexion look pasty. Lucia’s curls are natural and Gwen uses a weird-looking curling iron to create hers.
Lucia is determined and outspoken, and her goals are more important to her than any guy. Gwen is always on the hunt for her next boyfriend and when she finds Mr. Right Now, she’ll spend all her time with him.
It gets me thinking and I turn to Tess. “You know how some people say it doesn’t matter if you date jerks because every relationship is a learning experience?” I ask.
“By ‘some people’ I’m assuming you mean Gwen?”
“Do you think it’s true?”
“No,” Tess says immediately. “That’s what people say when they know they’re dating assholes, but they don’t want to walk away. Look at my mom. It only took one jerk to ruin her life.”
Tess means her dad.
I’m not sure if I agree with her take, but I understand where she’s coming from.
The moment we get to the table, Gwen pounces. “So…?”
Tess sits next to Lucia, and I slide in beside Gwen.
“I didn’t get anything,” Tess says.
“Yet,” Lucia says, swinging her dark hair over her shoulder.
Gwen tugs on the sleeves of her oversize hoodie. “I’ve got nothing to report, either.”
“I got an offer from Stanford,” Lucia says, as if it’s no big deal. “They only gave me a partial ride, but they’re covering most of the tuition and my athletic expenses, so my parents can swing it.” She’s downplaying the acceptance because she doesn’t want to make anyone else feel bad.
Tess smiles. “I’m really happy for you.”
“Don’t forget about us when you make new Ivy League friends,” I say.
Lucia laughs. “No chance. I’ve been trying to forget about you guys for years, and it hasn’t worked.”
“You deserve it.” I ball up a napkin and throw it at Lucia. “Even if you are a pain.”
“Just don’t bring it up around Lorenzo,” she says. “He’s acting like a huge baby because he wanted me to go somewhere close to Virginia Tech. Like that’s gonna happen.”
“You should be nicer to him,” Gwen says.
Lucia pops a fry in her mouth. “If it’s so important to him, he can find a college near Stanford.” She points a fry at me. “You’re up, Peyton.”
I slide Dad’s dog tags back and forth on the chain. “I didn’t get a scholarship.…” I try to play it cool, but a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “But one school offered me admission and a spot on the women’s soccer team.”
Gwen drums her palms against the tabletop. “Which school? Spill!”
“University of North Carolina.”
“No freaking way!” Lucia shouts.
The guys in a booth across from ours look over at us and smirk.
Lucia stares them down. “There’s nothing here for you,” she says, motioning between us girls. “So turn around and mind your own business.”
One guy’s face reddens and the other two laugh, but they still turn around.
“What did Reed say when you told him about UNC?” Gwen asks. “He must be happy that it’s not too far away.”
“I haven’t had a chance to tell him yet. He worked late,” I say casually. Tess is the only one who knows about the underground fights. “He’s probably still sleeping.”
Gwen and Lucia exchange looks.
“It’s eleven thirty,” Gwen points out. “Must be nice to sleep all day.”
“Like you’ve never slept later than that,” Tess snaps. “He literally got home in the middle of the night.”
Tess is always the first person to defend her brother. With a deadbeat for a father who took off before Reed and Tess started elementary school, Reed was the one who worked at the gym, at fourteen, to help out with the bills. He was the one who showed up at our soccer games to watch Tess play.
Gwen backpedals. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Tess stands up and grabs her bag.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“I need some space.”
“Don’t leave, Tess,” Gwen pleads. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know your brother worked so late.”
“Now you do,” Tess says as she walks away.
Gwen puts her head down on the table. “Why did I say anything?”
“She’ll get over it,” Lucia says. “Just leave her alone until practice.”
I feel bad for Gwen, but she should know better. Nobody gets away with criticizing Reed in front of Tess. Not even me.