Cullen Henking cackles on the other side of the room. Some girl sits in his lap with her arm around his neck. He’s holding a pencil out of her reach in some stupid, flirtatious middle school game of keep-away.

I glare at him.

The girl presses her chest against his and reaches for the pencil in his outstretched hand, extending well beyond his back.

Cullen’s eyes catch mine. His smile widens. He shrugs as if I’m glaring at him because I’m some brainless, jealous schoolgirl, and he hands over the pencil. Mr. Mater walks over to them. He says something that makes her sit in an actual chair next to Cullen instead of on top of him.

Adam notices me clenching my iPad. “If you want to bash that thing over his head, I won’t stop you.” He turns to the spectacle Cullen has created. “In fact, I’ll take down anyone who tries to get in your way.”

The girl unleashes a high-pitched giggle, and I’m forced to look away before I hurl myself toward Cullen and gouge out his eyes.

Adam lowers his voice. “Mob attacks started eleven years ago. About two years before Henking ran for office. His entire campaign revolved around destroying the Swarm and rebuilding tourism in our city through the Lakefront Project.”

“His house was the first to be built, wasn’t it?” I ask in a voice that doesn’t feel like my own. I hate Cullen Henking. Now more than ever.

Like Adam can read my mind, he says, “Whether he knows his dad is a murderous tyrant or not, Cullen’s still a douchebag.”

The blonde next to him leans over her desk and puts one hand on Cullen’s forearm. His behavior has always been disgusting and self-indulgent. Helping his face appear in every Chicago newspaper and news program made it worse.

My mom dismissed the mayor when he left our house. Ryan told me he didn’t like me hanging out with Cullen Henking, which I mistook as a jealous thing. Stupid. Foolish. How did I not figure this out? How did I not see this coming? Instead, I helped Cullen and his dad look like city heroes saving a distressed little girl.

“Don’t look now, but Douchebag Boy is headed our way.”

Cullen saunters over, a smug, condescending smile on his face. He heads straight for me without breaking eye contact.

I grit my teeth, keeping my hands locked on my iPad. I don’t trust them and what they might do if Cullen pushes me over the edge.

Cullen crouches down at my desk. He brushes a chunk of my hair behind my shoulder. “It might be hard—seeing me with someone else.” He stares at my hair and tucks another lock behind my ear.

I grip the iPad tighter. It takes everything I have not to reach out and choke him.

“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate you.”