It’s the first day of school, ten minutes past eight, when some kid ambles through our classroom door.
Scuffed sneakers and faded jeans. Eyes somewhere between gray and blue and green. Scraped-up elbows and a banged-up lunchbox.
Ordinary.
He won’t last a day here.
“Joe!” Our teacher wraps an arm around him. “So glad you could find us. Why don’t you introduce yourself?”
“I’m from Wisconsin,” he says. “And I prefer Joseph.”
The class titters, but he just smiles and strides toward an empty seat.
Of course he picks the one behind me, still smiling.
And I almost smile back.
Instead, I stare at the board, fiddling with my sweatshirt. Because, somehow, this kid makes me feel like the ordinary one.***The moment the bell sounds, I shoulder my backpack and trudge from the room. Girls brush past me, a blur of numbered jerseys and AirJordans.Hard to believe that, a year ago, I was one of them.
I jump as someone taps my shoulder.
“Sorry,” Joseph says. “I meant no harm.”
I meant no harm? He’s from the cheesehead state, not Harvard.
Still, I feel sorry for this loner, dropped into a world where everyone jockeys for position—and no one survives.
“You’re good,” I say. “Can I…help you with something?”
“No.”
“Okay, then.” I clear my throat. “I guess I’ll go now.”
“Wait!” He extends a hand. “We haven’t been introduced.”
“I’m Peyton,” I say. “Any other questions?”
Joseph shifts from one foot to the other. “I was wondering if I could eat lunch with you?”
“Oh.” I force a laugh. “You don’t want to do that.”
He frowns. “But I do.”
I scan the hallway, as if the right words are hidden in the walls. “No, I mean…Never mind. Come with me.”
He follows me to the cafeteria without question. Honestly, I could lead this kid to his doom. Then again, maybe I am.
I shove the thought aside and point to a table.
“The kid in the Rams tee is Brian, and the one with the Mohawk is Gabriel. They’re the ones you want to sit with.”
Joseph looks at me, skepticism written all over his face, as Brian shoves French fries up his nose.
I nudge him into the cafeteria. “They’re popular. And they play football.”
“I don’t play football.”
No kidding.
“Brian and Gabriel.” I back away and give him an encouraging nod. “If they talk football, just say something nice about the Rams.”
Joseph calls my name, but I’ve been swallowed by a crowd of seventh graders.
Sit with me, and he secures his low-ranking position on the food chain.
Besides. I don’t need friends.***One week later, I dodge and weave my way to the far corner of the cafeteria. The table’s empty, as usual.
I bite into my sandwich, choking when I notice scuffed sneakers below.
“Mind if I join you?”
I chew furiously, eyes fixed on the linoleum floor.
Joseph plunks his tray on the table. “I know you heard me.”
“Oh, she heard you.” Louis Vuitton high-tops stroll into view. “But Peyton’s more of…a loner.”
He pops a chip into his mouth. “Fine with me.”
She tosses her head back and laughs. “A boy from nowhere sides with the charity case. How fitting.”
“Leave him alone, Evie,” I say in a low voice.
Everly narrows her eyes. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” I rise to my feet. “Leave Joseph alone.”
She glares at me, but her mouth clamps shut.
I know things that could drop Everly’s social standing from top to bottom. Like how she still sucks her thumb and sleeps with a nightlight. Howshe, forever a B/C student, aced sixth grade. And how her best friend was the most pathetic loser in seventh grade—me.“Hey.” She backs away. “I’m not the bad guy here.”I turn to Joseph, arms crossed. “What happened to Brian and Gabriel?”
“Come on, Peyton. I didn’t stand a chance, and you knew it.” I sink onto the bench and blow out a breath.
“So.” Joseph slides a crumpled picture across the table. “What happened between you two?”
I glance down, breath catching in my throat. Everly and I are sandwiched between our basketball team, clutching the championship trophy. Wegrin at the camera, so happy it hurts. “Where did you find this?”“Library.”I arch an eyebrow. “Really.”
“Really!” His face flushes. “I saw your picture in the trophy case, so I went to the library and uncovered some old articles.”
“You researched me?” I say, stifling a laugh.
A look of horror crosses Joseph’s face. “No! Maybe. Yes and no. Anyway.”
He taps the picture, clearly eager to change the subject.
I rub my hands on my legs, ready to rattle off my usual excuses. A nagging injury. Academics. Not enough time.
But something about Joseph makes me think twice. Maybe the way he looks me straight in the eyes, like every word matters. Or maybe I’m justsick of pretending.“I was a scholarship kid, admitted on account of good grades and athletic skills. Everly was her usual self, except nicer—to me.”
I gesture to my prosthetic leg. “Until this happened.”***Evie and I were huddled under the gym’s awning. Neither of us had remembered coats. Neither of us cared.
“We won,” I say, dazed. “We actually won.”
“Holy cow.” Evie’s lips twitch. “Is that your brother’s car?”
I groan as a 2000 Mazda 323 coughs and squeals through the deserted lot.
“It’s a family heirloom,” I say grimly. “Dad’s first car, passed on to Rhett, and—eventually—to me.”
Hopefully, it crumbles to dust before my sweet sixteen.
Rhett cracks the window and shoots us a grin. “How you doing, champs?”
“Wet,” I call. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”
His smile wavers. “I’m your chauffeur for the evening.”
Right. I turn away, jaw clenched.
My parents won’t share a couch, so an hour of mandatory togetherness is torture. Still, I’d hoped for one night of blessed peace. One I loveyou. One I’m proud of you. “Come on, Peyton.” Rhett opens the passenger door with a flourish. “Your chariot awaits.”
He strikes a pose, rain streaming down his face.
I laugh and mask my disappointment.
“You coming?” I say to Evie.
“You guys go ahead.”
Evie waves me along, but I know her. She’d take the offer if she wasn’t too proud to accept it.
“Text me when you get home.”
She manages a half smile. “Sure.”
I hug her and run to the car, using my gym bag as an umbrella.
“Took you long enough,” Rhett says. “And shut the door. You’re soaking my upholstery.”
I roll my eyes. Stuffing peeks from the faded seats, and ketchup stains speckle the armrests. Water is the least of this car’s problems.
He nods toward Evie, who pulls her hoodie tight and sloshes down the sidewalk.
"Your friend doesn’t need a ride?”
“Her home’s only three blocks away.”
Rhett drums the steering wheel. “There someone she could call?”
I glance at him. “Her mom’s honeymooning in Maui, and her dad lives in the city.”
He nods again and streaks out of the lot.
For once, I’m glad Rhett’s behind the wheel. Mom would have asked countless questions. Dad would have followed Evie home. My brother’sthe only one who listens—to the things I say, and the things I don’t say.“You were unreal tonight,” he says, squinting out the windshield. “That shot you made—third quarter, 54 seconds left on the clock, nothing butnet—incredible.”I pick at a loose thread on my leggings. “Did Mom and Dad see it?”
He sucks in a breath, then lets it out.
“I can handle the truth,” I say.
Rhett rubs his face. “They had some spat midway through the first quarter. Took it outside and never came back.”
We ride awhile in silence.
“Rhett?”
“Yeah.”
“When Mom and Dad split up—”
He flinches.
“—I’ll still have you. Right?”
“For keeps,” he says with a smile.
The street lights sputter and lightning cracks the sky in two. I check my phone, hoping to see a text from Evie.
Nothing.
Rhett hunches over the wheel, white-lipped. “I can’t see a thing.”
The windshield wipers snap back and forth, useless against the pelting rain. Thunder cracks in the distance, and water streams down the road.
“Rhett.” I reach for the grab handle as lights approach us. “I think—Rhett, we’re in the wrong lane.”
My brother swerves right. I hear the blare of horns. The screech of rubber on asphalt. The crunch of metal on metal.
I feel Rhett’s arm, pinning me to my seat.
Everything goes dark.***The next year was a blur of therapy appointments and rehab camps, muted squabbles and missed calls, boxes and suitcases. Dad needed abreak. Mom needed a distraction. Rhett, blaming himself, needed to forget. That’s when I realized—forever is a fantasy. At the end of the day, the only person you’re stuck with is the one in the mirror.
“I dropped the team,” I continue. “Everly hung around, but I pushed her away. She still resents me for it.”
To my right, Everly lets out a peal of laughter, ever the social butterfly.
Ever so lonely.
I shove my hands inside my pockets, avoiding Joseph’s eyes.
“If you want me to go, I’ll go. Just seems like you could use a friend.” He sighs. “I sure could.”
I study his face.
He doesn’t get that loners are losers, that money is power, that secondhand means second-best.
Maybe that’s a good thing.
“Okay,” I say. “You can stay.”
Scuffed sneakers and faded jeans. Eyes somewhere between gray and blue and green. Scraped-up elbows and a banged-up lunchbox.
Ordinary.
He won’t last a day here.
“Joe!” Our teacher wraps an arm around him. “So glad you could find us. Why don’t you introduce yourself?”
“I’m from Wisconsin,” he says. “And I prefer Joseph.”
The class titters, but he just smiles and strides toward an empty seat.
Of course he picks the one behind me, still smiling.
And I almost smile back.
Instead, I stare at the board, fiddling with my sweatshirt. Because, somehow, this kid makes me feel like the ordinary one.***The moment the bell sounds, I shoulder my backpack and trudge from the room. Girls brush past me, a blur of numbered jerseys and AirJordans.Hard to believe that, a year ago, I was one of them.
I jump as someone taps my shoulder.
“Sorry,” Joseph says. “I meant no harm.”
I meant no harm? He’s from the cheesehead state, not Harvard.
Still, I feel sorry for this loner, dropped into a world where everyone jockeys for position—and no one survives.
“You’re good,” I say. “Can I…help you with something?”
“No.”
“Okay, then.” I clear my throat. “I guess I’ll go now.”
“Wait!” He extends a hand. “We haven’t been introduced.”
“I’m Peyton,” I say. “Any other questions?”
Joseph shifts from one foot to the other. “I was wondering if I could eat lunch with you?”
“Oh.” I force a laugh. “You don’t want to do that.”
He frowns. “But I do.”
I scan the hallway, as if the right words are hidden in the walls. “No, I mean…Never mind. Come with me.”
He follows me to the cafeteria without question. Honestly, I could lead this kid to his doom. Then again, maybe I am.
I shove the thought aside and point to a table.
“The kid in the Rams tee is Brian, and the one with the Mohawk is Gabriel. They’re the ones you want to sit with.”
Joseph looks at me, skepticism written all over his face, as Brian shoves French fries up his nose.
I nudge him into the cafeteria. “They’re popular. And they play football.”
“I don’t play football.”
No kidding.
“Brian and Gabriel.” I back away and give him an encouraging nod. “If they talk football, just say something nice about the Rams.”
Joseph calls my name, but I’ve been swallowed by a crowd of seventh graders.
Sit with me, and he secures his low-ranking position on the food chain.
Besides. I don’t need friends.***One week later, I dodge and weave my way to the far corner of the cafeteria. The table’s empty, as usual.
I bite into my sandwich, choking when I notice scuffed sneakers below.
“Mind if I join you?”
I chew furiously, eyes fixed on the linoleum floor.
Joseph plunks his tray on the table. “I know you heard me.”
“Oh, she heard you.” Louis Vuitton high-tops stroll into view. “But Peyton’s more of…a loner.”
He pops a chip into his mouth. “Fine with me.”
She tosses her head back and laughs. “A boy from nowhere sides with the charity case. How fitting.”
“Leave him alone, Evie,” I say in a low voice.
Everly narrows her eyes. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” I rise to my feet. “Leave Joseph alone.”
She glares at me, but her mouth clamps shut.
I know things that could drop Everly’s social standing from top to bottom. Like how she still sucks her thumb and sleeps with a nightlight. Howshe, forever a B/C student, aced sixth grade. And how her best friend was the most pathetic loser in seventh grade—me.“Hey.” She backs away. “I’m not the bad guy here.”I turn to Joseph, arms crossed. “What happened to Brian and Gabriel?”
“Come on, Peyton. I didn’t stand a chance, and you knew it.” I sink onto the bench and blow out a breath.
“So.” Joseph slides a crumpled picture across the table. “What happened between you two?”
I glance down, breath catching in my throat. Everly and I are sandwiched between our basketball team, clutching the championship trophy. Wegrin at the camera, so happy it hurts. “Where did you find this?”“Library.”I arch an eyebrow. “Really.”
“Really!” His face flushes. “I saw your picture in the trophy case, so I went to the library and uncovered some old articles.”
“You researched me?” I say, stifling a laugh.
A look of horror crosses Joseph’s face. “No! Maybe. Yes and no. Anyway.”
He taps the picture, clearly eager to change the subject.
I rub my hands on my legs, ready to rattle off my usual excuses. A nagging injury. Academics. Not enough time.
But something about Joseph makes me think twice. Maybe the way he looks me straight in the eyes, like every word matters. Or maybe I’m justsick of pretending.“I was a scholarship kid, admitted on account of good grades and athletic skills. Everly was her usual self, except nicer—to me.”
I gesture to my prosthetic leg. “Until this happened.”***Evie and I were huddled under the gym’s awning. Neither of us had remembered coats. Neither of us cared.
“We won,” I say, dazed. “We actually won.”
“Holy cow.” Evie’s lips twitch. “Is that your brother’s car?”
I groan as a 2000 Mazda 323 coughs and squeals through the deserted lot.
“It’s a family heirloom,” I say grimly. “Dad’s first car, passed on to Rhett, and—eventually—to me.”
Hopefully, it crumbles to dust before my sweet sixteen.
Rhett cracks the window and shoots us a grin. “How you doing, champs?”
“Wet,” I call. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”
His smile wavers. “I’m your chauffeur for the evening.”
Right. I turn away, jaw clenched.
My parents won’t share a couch, so an hour of mandatory togetherness is torture. Still, I’d hoped for one night of blessed peace. One I loveyou. One I’m proud of you. “Come on, Peyton.” Rhett opens the passenger door with a flourish. “Your chariot awaits.”
He strikes a pose, rain streaming down his face.
I laugh and mask my disappointment.
“You coming?” I say to Evie.
“You guys go ahead.”
Evie waves me along, but I know her. She’d take the offer if she wasn’t too proud to accept it.
“Text me when you get home.”
She manages a half smile. “Sure.”
I hug her and run to the car, using my gym bag as an umbrella.
“Took you long enough,” Rhett says. “And shut the door. You’re soaking my upholstery.”
I roll my eyes. Stuffing peeks from the faded seats, and ketchup stains speckle the armrests. Water is the least of this car’s problems.
He nods toward Evie, who pulls her hoodie tight and sloshes down the sidewalk.
"Your friend doesn’t need a ride?”
“Her home’s only three blocks away.”
Rhett drums the steering wheel. “There someone she could call?”
I glance at him. “Her mom’s honeymooning in Maui, and her dad lives in the city.”
He nods again and streaks out of the lot.
For once, I’m glad Rhett’s behind the wheel. Mom would have asked countless questions. Dad would have followed Evie home. My brother’sthe only one who listens—to the things I say, and the things I don’t say.“You were unreal tonight,” he says, squinting out the windshield. “That shot you made—third quarter, 54 seconds left on the clock, nothing butnet—incredible.”I pick at a loose thread on my leggings. “Did Mom and Dad see it?”
He sucks in a breath, then lets it out.
“I can handle the truth,” I say.
Rhett rubs his face. “They had some spat midway through the first quarter. Took it outside and never came back.”
We ride awhile in silence.
“Rhett?”
“Yeah.”
“When Mom and Dad split up—”
He flinches.
“—I’ll still have you. Right?”
“For keeps,” he says with a smile.
The street lights sputter and lightning cracks the sky in two. I check my phone, hoping to see a text from Evie.
Nothing.
Rhett hunches over the wheel, white-lipped. “I can’t see a thing.”
The windshield wipers snap back and forth, useless against the pelting rain. Thunder cracks in the distance, and water streams down the road.
“Rhett.” I reach for the grab handle as lights approach us. “I think—Rhett, we’re in the wrong lane.”
My brother swerves right. I hear the blare of horns. The screech of rubber on asphalt. The crunch of metal on metal.
I feel Rhett’s arm, pinning me to my seat.
Everything goes dark.***The next year was a blur of therapy appointments and rehab camps, muted squabbles and missed calls, boxes and suitcases. Dad needed abreak. Mom needed a distraction. Rhett, blaming himself, needed to forget. That’s when I realized—forever is a fantasy. At the end of the day, the only person you’re stuck with is the one in the mirror.
“I dropped the team,” I continue. “Everly hung around, but I pushed her away. She still resents me for it.”
To my right, Everly lets out a peal of laughter, ever the social butterfly.
Ever so lonely.
I shove my hands inside my pockets, avoiding Joseph’s eyes.
“If you want me to go, I’ll go. Just seems like you could use a friend.” He sighs. “I sure could.”
I study his face.
He doesn’t get that loners are losers, that money is power, that secondhand means second-best.
Maybe that’s a good thing.
“Okay,” I say. “You can stay.”
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