We’d be fine. Knowing that, some pressure lifted from my shoulders.

Then Cross said, “I know what Race said the other night, but he still likes you.”

His words stopped me.

Maybe. Jordan had gone ahead, gone back to our class, so it was just Cross and me in that hall. For a moment, we had a pocket of privacy at school, and I felt emotions flare up in me that I needed to acknowledge.

There could’ve been a Race and me. In another year, another school, another time. But not today. Not this year. Not at this school. Not in this hallway.

Cross was worried about Race. I could see it in his eyes.

I should’ve stopped. I should’ve stopped him, stopped me, stopped everything.

But I didn’t want to.

I looked him right in the face, and I didn’t flinch when I said, “It doesn’t matter now.”

I stared at the guy I had feelings for.

Dinner. 8 tonight. Pizzeria.

I stared at the text Channing sent me, but I couldn’t believe it. I re-read it. Still there. I read it a third time. Nope. It wasn’t changing. I even went letter by letter to make sure.

According to this text—if it was sent by my brother, if someone hadn’t stolen his phone or one of his crew guys wasn’t playing a prank—he wanted to meet me at one of the only normal hangouts in Roussou.

We had the springs not far away. And there was Manny’s in Fallen Crest. After that, to each their own. We had Jordan’s warehouse. The Ryerson crew hung out at Alex’s house.

But the Pizzeria was the only local public option, and it was mostly filled up with team events or family dinners. The basement had a pool table, foosball, and an air hockey machine. There were a few other machines too. I think they had a dance-hop. Those weren’t my scene.

I texted back. Really?

Really. Meet me there. Moose is coming.

I thumbed back, What’s my middle name?

Rayna. Loser. This is your brother. I’m not fucking around.

Okay. So it was him.

I had to make sure.

Another buzz. See you there. Invite whoever.

That perked me up. I was almost smiling when I put my phone away.

Cross was waiting for me at our lockers, and seeing my face, he stepped backward. “Who are you? What have you done with my best friend?”

“Lame. Get a new line.”

He laughed. “I will.” He nodded to where I’d put my phone. “Your brother?”

“Yeah,” I told him. “You want to come?”

Suspicion clouded his face. He tilted his head to the side. “You sure? Jordan and Z will be pissed if they aren’t invited.”

I shrugged. “So invite them.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded. I’d been down with the whole “the more the merrier” attitude when it came to my brother’s dinners. If he was asking for me to invite them, then hell to the yes. I wasn’t going to pass that up. Besides, I was heading into foreign territory. I didn’t hang out at the Pizzeria.

It could be the new cheerleading headquarters for all I knew.

That evening I discovered I was partially right.

We walked in after hanging out at Jordan’s for most of the afternoon, and I saw Sunday Barnes, Monica, and a whole other table full of them. I recognized Tabatha Sweets. She was considered the top of the top on the popularity charts for the girls in our grade.

They took up the entire back section of the Pizzeria, with the other tables full of some of the popular athletes too. All were Normals.

I scanned for Taz, but she wasn’t here.

Wait. Nope.

Her head popped up from the back table, and seeing us, her eyes widened.

“Bren? Cross?”

Jordan and Zellman were behind us so I moved aside. At her question, that entire section had quieted and turned to take us in.

“Oh, hell yeah.” Zellman pushed past us, beelining for their table.

Sunday sat with her elbows on the table. Her hands shielded her eyes as she stared down at the tablecloth. Monica’s head was pushed close to hers. They were whispering.

Z didn’t care.

A small partition blocked off that section from the rest of the place, but he hopped right over it and came around their table, ignoring everyone else as he dropped into Taz’s empty seat. He draped his arm around Sunday’s shoulders and pushed his head in too, as if conspiring with the other two.

Sunday stiffened, but she didn’t push him away. He only moved closer.

Monica backed away, watching them a moment before shrugging and turning to watch us with everyone else. A few of the athlete guys were frowning at Z.

I had to wonder how they always handled the guys. Until this year, Monica was usually around Cross. Sunday and Zellman had their thing. And I knew Jordan had slept with half those girls.

Cross had slept with the other half in between when he was seeing Monica, or whatever they had been doing.

Those guys would usually have ruled the school. But not in Roussou. The jocks/athletes/populars were almost second-class here, though they liked to walk around with the same swagger I’d seen from popular guys at other schools. They still had the cocky attitude, just nothing to back it up, at least against the crew guys.

I wondered if the Normals had their own social classes, with a hierarchy and rules? They must’ve.

Cross nudged me. “Where do you want to sit?”

The hostess had been asking me, her eyes darting between us as she bit her lip. She held three menus in her hands, tucked in front of her body, and they were shaking, just a little.

The girl was scared of us.

I felt bad for her, because she didn’t look like one of the girls who was friends with the Sunday Barnes’ of the world.

Wait…

I looked more closely at her. “You look familiar.”

She blushed, tucking a strand of her almost-white hair behind her ear. She was thin almost the point of seeming frail. “I work at Manny’s too. I’m A—”

“Ava.” I wasn’t around Manny’s that much, but I was there enough to have seen her. Quite a bit. “You work here too?”

She nodded, rotating the menus so the one on top was in the back. She repeated the motion. She kept doing it as she answered, “Yes. I have bills, you know?” A shy smile. Her eyes skirted to Cross, and her face warmed before she looked down again. “Did you want to sit near the back section? With your friends?”

“No.” God, no. “There are two more coming, so put us at a table where you can sit six or seven comfortably,” I told her. “Actually, Moose counts as two. Make it eight people comfortably.”

Cross gestured to an emptier section across the room. “How about over there?”

“Sure.” Ava grabbed a few more menus and came out from behind the hostess stand. “Follow me.”

She led us toward the table.

Jordan held up a hand. “Yo, Z. You coming?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Z went right back to whispering to Sunday, who seemed to be melting with each word he said. She dissolved into a sighing mess before our eyes.

We were passing by their section when suddenly Tabatha Sweets stood up. Her chair scraped against the floor, and her hands found her hips. She lifted her head, an alluring smile on her face. Brushing her hair back, she called, “Hey. Can some of us come too?”

Jordan stopped in his tracks, staring right at her.

Unblinking, her gaze roamed from him to Cross, to me, narrowing slightly, and then past me to where Ava had stopped to see what was going on.

“What do you say?” she called again.

I didn’t know Tabatha Sweets that well. I knew she was their leader, but that was about it. She led the first tier. I’d never heard rumors that she was mean, that she was a bully, that she was easy, that she was stuck-up. Nothing. She was just the top. That’s how Taz always put it.

She smiled at Cross. “Hi, Cross.”

He wasn’t even looking at her. He was staring right at me, and he smirked, as if reading my mind.

I refused to let anything show, but I asked, “Jordan? Did you want to sit with them?”

My tone was casual, not friendly, but not stiff.

He flashed me a grin, shaking his head. “Nah. I’m good. But maybe another night, Sweets?” He gave her a smirk.