I stick by his side, ignoring his groaning at my persistence. “But we’re friends. And as my friend, you should get to know Vincent.”
Steven finally looks at me, irritation flashing in his eyes. “We’re not friends.”
...Oh.
“We’re not?” I murmur as he holds the cafeteria door open for me.
He shakes his head. “No.”
I grab a tray, and he follows. We stand in line. I glance around, wondering where Vincent is—he was supposed to meet us outside. I told him I’d convince Steven to have lunch with us.
“Why not?” I ask again, careful, almost hopeful.
He rolls his eyes and grabs a cheese sandwich for his tray. “Because I don’t want friends.”
I choose fries and two slices of chocolate cheesecake. For weeks now, the thought of eating meat has made me queasy—it feels too much like eating Percy after an afternoon of playing with him.
“But Vincent and I are watchingOne Piece,” I try.
Steven arches a brow. “Should I care?”
He grabs a water bottle and—despite all his complaints—waits for me while I pick between juice and chocolate milk. Even though he swears he doesn’t want to be my friend, he still waits for me. That makes me smile as I join him with my chocolate milk.
“Can we be friends?” I ask softly, hoping.
“No,” he shoots back. But this time, there’s the faintest curve of amusement on his lips.
We shuffle forward to pay. I hand over my cash without issue, then wait as Steven searches his pockets. Nothing. He digs into his backpack, panic flickering in his eyes. His face goes red. Finally, with a sigh, he slides his tray onto the counter, staring at his shoes. The people behind us grumble and the cashier taps her nails impatiently. My chest tightens—I wish I could help, but I’ve only got a dollar left.
“Excuse me, I can’t—” Steven mumbles, but a hand sets a five-dollar bill on the counter before he can finish.
We both turn. Vincent stands there, watching with his usual weary expression. “I’ll take care of it,” he says simply.
The cashier accepts the money and waves us aside. Steven and I carry our trays to Vincent’s table. He’s already left two trays and his backpack there.
Steven doesn’t sit—he just drops his tray on the table and glares. “I don’t need your charity.”
Vincent takes a bite of his burger. He always waits until he’s done chewing to answer. “I just gave you a hand.”
“I don’t need your help,” Steven mutters, folding his arms.
Vincent shrugs and sips his Cherry Coke. “Okay.”
Steven blinks. “Okay? That’s it?”
I can’t stop a smile when he finally sits across from us.
“That’s it,” Vincent confirms.
Steven narrows his eyes. “I don’t want to owe you.”
“Owe me? We’re just kids.” Vincent chuckles faintly. “But if you insist, you can come over this afternoon.”
“Not even dead,” Steven scoffs.
Vincent and I exchange a knowing look. I pop a fry into my mouth, while he leans closer to Steven.
“You said you don’t want to owe me. And Nova says you’re, what was it—super hyper-mega smart?”
