People snicker at my comment. The table is full of football players and cheerleaders. Knight finally spots Luna across the room and slides out of our bench.

“See you later, assholes. It’s been real. Well, other than Esme’s tits.” He ambles away. Esme’s mouth goes slack, and she cups her boobs, clad in a colorful D&G dress, shifting her gaze from them to him.

Luna Rexroth refuses to sit with us. One time, when Knight was away, Gus made fun of her at the table for not talking. I didn’t stop him, and I still feel bad about that. She’s a persona non grata and isn’t worth fighting over, but she still didn’t deserve his wrath.

“Useful how, Gus?” Esme munches on the tip of a carrot, shifting the conversation from her fake tits, her eighteenth birthday gift from her parents, back to me.

“Word is Penn Scully’s paying us a visit after school to warn us off from pulling any shenanigans ahead of the game. Last year, All Saints killed the grass in Las Juntas’ field, and the broke ass pussies didn’t have anywhere to play for weeks. I figured Daria can play Judge Judy since she wants to tap it.”

My heart starts pounding so hard and fast, I feel it in my toes. Behind my eyeballs.

Marx, Marx, Marx.

“Scully?” I snort. “Hmm, no thanks.”

“Is that why you screamed when Vaughn knocked his ass to the ground?” Gus cocks his head.

“He was piss drunk. I was just worried about Vaughn getting in trouble.”

Gus runs his pale eyes over my face, his smirk unwavering. He leans forward and taps my nose with his finger.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Good thing I don’t exist to live up to your expectations.” I open an invisible mirror, giving him my middle finger. More laughter. It might look as if I’m in my element, but I’m totally flustered underneath my cute sundress and lacy black pumps.

“Prove it today at three.”

“Pass, jackass. I have cheer practice. Also, a life.”

“The whole point of cheer is to help the football team,” Esme argues, simply to defy me. She’s still butthurt about me getting cheer captain. But the thing about Esme is she fat-shames everyone into believing they can’t consume anything more than Diet Coke. Nobody wants her to be in charge of the homecoming snack menu, let alone the cheer team.

“No can do, señor douchebag.” I grab an apple from his tray and take a bite before I realize what I’m doing.

“Cheer practice is at three thirty. You’ll make it.” Blythe munches on her lower lip. Marx, I hope teenage girls grow out of the need to form alliances with The Boys Club.

“Fine. Whatever.” I stand, grabbing my red plastic tray. Sauntering out of the cafeteria, I swallow the ball of tears in my throat. I don’t want to face Penn. I know it’s stupid because we live together now, and it’s inevitable, but I hate the look on his face when his eyes land on mine. He sees past my exterior and that scares me.

The rest of the school day is a dud even though I keep my head up and my smile extra glossy. It doesn’t help that Blythe and I show up in the same Reformation dress, and all I could think was that we also share the same taste in guys.

Only Penn was never in my bed.

He kissed me just to show me that he can. Then he ripped the sea glass necklace from my throat and told me he didn’t want my firsts.

My heart clenches with every tick, tick, tick of the clock. It’s like a ticking bomb, and when it hits three, the ring of the bell explodes in my ears. Gus waits outside my class, his elbow slumped against the doorframe, his ball cap backward. He pops his gum in people’s ears as the pupils file out of class, and when I slip out, he peeks behind my shoulder and flicks his nose with his finger, sniffing.

“Isn’t that the classroom where your parents boned?”

How does everyone know that?

Because they all have parents who are alumni. People talk. People always talk.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pushes off the doorframe, and we both make our way toward the entrance and out the school gates. I try to tell myself that it is in Penn’s and my best interest to act as if we don’t know each other. This doesn’t have to be a disaster. If anything, it’s an opportunity to prove to Gus that nothing’s going on between us. I would die before ever admitting to dating a Las Juntas rat.

As we approach the gates, I spot Penn leaning against his brand-new silver-blue Prius. I bite down on my lip to suppress a snicker. Dad got him the car from a fair-trade coffee-sipping environmentalist who thinks white sugar is akin to pure heroin. Penn’s arms are knotted on his chest, and he is wearing a pair of Jax Teller Ray-Bans and a frown. His black shirt has a hole where the heart is, and his black skinny jeans highlight how tall and trim he is, especially for a wide receiver. Gus, in comparison, looks like a tank (and has about the same IQ as one).