Robert plunks his tray down and turns to Henry without looking my way. “Dude,” he sneers. “Fresh meat are gonna getdestroyed.”
Henry laughs into his sandwich. “Which one?” I elbow himin the stomach and he throws me hisI’m sorryface. But I just shake my head. Whenever they talk this way it just makes me think of all the things that were probably said about me over the years. My shoulders stiffen.
“Sierra McKinley, dude. She’s totally sucking up, commenting on all my Instas. Shooting me looks in the hall.” Robert crams a French fry in his mouth. “I’m gonna make her life hell with pops. She’ll do whatever I want.”
“You sound like a dick,” I say.
Robert rolls his eyes. “What are you, a cop?”
I glance at Henry for support, but suddenly a wilted piece of lettuce becomes super interesting. “Whatever,” I mumble. I know I should push back but I’m not looking for a fight. Not today.
“Gotta do one last cram,” I say through clenched teeth. I rise and turn my back to them, wishing I had the courage to scream. To tear them both apart. Instead, I walk away.
I’ve just stepped out in the hall when I see Nikki and Quentin coming toward me. “Whoa, wait up,” Quentin says. “Where you going?”
I shake my head and inhale sharply. “Robert’s talking so much shit about the freshmen.” Nikki’s face contorts, pissed.
“Sorry,” I say, but she rolls her shoulders back like it doesn’t matter, like she doesn’t care that he’s already forgotten her. She flips her hair over her shoulder and readjusts her blazer.
“That’s just how he is,” Quentin says. “He’ll get bored with it soon.”
“We said we would change things,” I sputter. “And so far, we’ve done everything the same.”
“We will,” Nikki says, her mouth in a straight line. “Just relax for now. We’ll figure it out together. We’re in this together.”
“We are, right?” I say, pleading with them.
Quentin wraps both of us in a hug. “Of course.”
I let myself believe him—it’s easier than not. Their supportive, sweet faces make me want to tell them the truth. “There’s something else,” I say quietly, motioning for them to lean in close. “I can’t stop thinking about Graham. What if he’s, you know, innocent? What if someone else killed Shaila?”
The question hangs heavy between us. Quentin and Nikki glance quickly at each other. “Jill, come on,” she says. “We agreed. It’s over. Let’s let it lie.”
“But what—” I start. Out of everyone, I thought she would understand.
“Let. It. Lie,” Nikki says through gritted teeth.
Quentin shakes his head. “It’s just not worth it to get involved. We don’t need everyone finding out what happened that night.”
My whole body tenses, but I force my head to nod, to pretend like I agree and that I, too, will let this whole thing go. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Come on, let’s get you back to the caf.” Quentin swings an arm over my shoulder and I let them drag me back to the Players’ Table where I zone out for another twenty-three minutes, wondering how the hell I ended up here.
When French rolls around, I breathe easy as I realize the midterm has the exact same questions as the study guide I memorized. I breeze through the first section, then etch out a translation. Thank God I’d actually studied on my own for this part. If I only get a few points off here, I’ll land a 96, just what I need to solidify a 95 average for the semester. Perfect.
When Madame Mathias calls time, I drop my exam on her desk and retreat into the hallway.
“Did you see Jill Newman?” I hear a voice say behind me. “She was done like twenty minutes in.”
“Always,” someone else says. “I heard she and that whole stupid table have all the answer keys from, like, years ago. It’s bullshit.”
“None of them are actually smart.”
“So fucking unfair.”
“They’re all gonna get into Harvard or Yale, too. They always do. Stealing our spots with fake-ass work.”
“Ridiculous.” Heat creeps up my neck and I peek around my shoulder to find two girls from the debate team shooting daggers at my back. They clamp their mouths shut when they see me and quickly turn on the heels of their leather loafers, retreating in the other direction.
