He fixes me with those mysterious gray eyes, as if I’m offering up a riddle and the answer can be found plainly on my face, if you just search hard enough. Finally, he concedes. “I will never underestimate you again, Everett Riley.”

Satisfied, I smile smugly and take back my Coke for another long drink, burying my sock-covered toes under his warm thigh. “Took you long enough. But you know I’m not giving your money back, right?”

“Wouldn’t even dream of asking.”

And, you know, I believe him.

We’re not really a God family, so it’s hard to explain why my first thought when I wake up on Sunday morning is I should go to church.

Maybe I feel a little bad about taking all that money off my classmates.

But only a little. Certainly, the devilish feelings don’t stop me from putting together another cute outfit and donning some makeup again. Plus, my bonus winnings from last night are burning a hole in my pocket with all sorts of thoughts on how I could spend them.

I decide to pass on church, especially since I’m starving, so I bring my remaining homework to the Beast and sit in the corner, stuffing pancakes slathered in whipped cream and berries in my mouth while I tackle geometry. People slowly trickle in while I work, but between day students being home for the weekend, the actually devout being at chapel, and everyone else doing a Sunday morning sleep-in, the room might be even calmer than yesterday. The only real sounds are the hissing of the coffee maker and the slamming of a stapler nailing new weekly announcements to the bulletin board, all of which are going to be emailed to us anyway.

The math is relatively easy, and without the distractions of text messages or tablemates, I sail through both it and my breakfast. But I have no other plans today anyway, so I decide to stick around and nurse a glass of OJ while I move on to English.

As if just thinking about Mrs. Frank conjures him up, I hear the familiar thud of Salem dropping into the chair next to me, followed by the heavy thump of his ratty messenger bag landing on the table. Even if I hadn’t recognized the bag, “Looking so studious over there, Skeevy” would’ve given him away immediately. “Studying how to take even more of Archie’s money?”

“Would that I could. I’m surprised you managed to roll out of bed at this hour, though it’s pretty clear you did exactly that,” I say, indicating his faded black Soundgarden T-shirt and pants that have somehow been worn to colorlessness. “I see you’re also on the study-while-you-eat plan.”

“AP Psych quiz,” he confirms. “Envy me.”