That’s when Beck walks up.
He got glasses last year. They’re always sliding down his nose, especially when his hands are full. His tray tilts, his glasses slip, and my hands automatically lift to fix them—
I stop myself just in time.
“Hey,” I say after he sets his tray down at our table. The same table we’ve eaten at for six years. Only now it’s full of girls. And Beck. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
His eyes look bigger behind the lenses, the brown darker. “Sure. What’s up?”
I wave him a few steps away, to a spot near the fence where no one’s listening. My heart is thudding like I’ve done something wrong, which feels unfair, because I’m doing thisfor him.
“It’s about lunch…” I trail off, my throat closing.
“What, the mac and cheese?” he jokes. “I agree, it’s basically glue.” He notices my face. His brows knit with concern. “You okay, Gracie?”
“Yeah. I just…” I clear my throat. Then clear it again.
Do it for Beck. Protect Beck.
I replay the moment that made me sure this was the right choice.
Gym class. Two weeks ago.
I was tying my sneaker when I heard Mike Watson’s voice drift over from the bleachers. Loud. Confident. Like he enjoyed being overheard.
“Who knows that kid Beck?”
I scooted closer, leaned out so I could see them.
A couple of boys snorted.
“The one with the glasses?”
“The one who always sits with the girls?”
They all nodded. It’s not a big school. Everyone knows everyone.
Mike leaned back like he was settling in for a story. “Yeah. That one. I’m sick of seeing his face. Kid’s a total puss.” He grinned, wide and mean. “I’m gonna kick his ass. Maybe tomorrow.”
My stomach dropped so fast I thought I might puke right there on the gym floor.
Mike got expelled the next morning for swearing at a teacher, which felt like a miracle. But miracles don’t last. Rumor is he’s coming back. Soon.
Which means I don’t have much time.
I need Beck to blend in a little. To stop looking like an easy target.
Around here, being different is an invitation. Being weird is a warning label, a flashing red sign. The kind that gets you noticed by the wrong set of kids.
I can’t make the school safer. I can’t make the boys nicer.
But I can move Beck out of the line of fire.
Even if it means I’m the one who has to push him there.
I gulp down a deep breath, then rush out, “I don’t think you should eat lunch with us anymore…with the girls. And…me.”
Beck blinks at that, then blinks again, like he can’t comprehend whatI’m saying.
