Bad Apple Evie is racking up a whole lotta points this morning.

Salem looks up as I put my tray down, and he gestures to where his phone lies on the table. “You didn’t get my text, I take it.”

“Like, just now? No.” I pull out my phone, and sure enough, there’s a message from Salem.

Want me to kill him and make it look like an accident?

I bite my lip to stop an embarrassing smile from spreading over my face as Salem takes another bite of his apple, the juice spraying onto my cheek. He wipes it off gently with his thumb, and I send my own reply text:

Wanna cut English and make out?

He laughs as his phone buzzes with the message, and we text-flirt through the rest of breakfast. When we do head out to English—a far inferior choice to my plan, but whatever—I see Lucas taking stock of us from across the room, registering exactly who my boyfriend is, a.k.a. the only other person on campus who knows his secret.

I should probably warn Salem before they face each other on the court tomorrow night.

Although, who am I kidding—Salem could wipe the floor with him.

And I’ll be there to cheer him on when he does it.

Word must travel fast, because Isabel catches up with me on my way back to Rumson from Baking Club, helps herself to one of the raspberry scones in the box I’m transporting, and says, “So, you finally pulled your head out of your ass. Congratulations.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong—I’m glad you held out so long; you made me fifty bucks. Matty thought for sure you’d hook up within twenty-four hours of the talent show, but I said, ‘No, I know my girl Evie—she is absolutely going to find some way to bungle this.’ And look! I was right!”

I stop in my tracks and turn to her, watching her take a delicate bite of a scone I just pulled out of the oven fifteen minutes ago. “He wasn’t even single that night! Wouldn’t I have been an asshole for kissing your best friend’s boyfriend?”

“Please, that was a technicality. The only reason she didn’t dump his ass on the spot was because we were in public.”

“Okay, well, technicality or not, I don’t fool around with other people’s boyfriends.” At least not on purpose. “Have been on the receiving end. Am not a fan.”

“Such a good girl, Everett. Matt’s not right about a lot, but he was right about that.”

“I don’t know about that,” I say as we resume walking, although I have no intention of elaborating. “But why were you and Matt even talking about me?”