The tables with the kids we deem more popular for whatever dumb reasons were usually an active beehive of varsity jackets, blond highlights, loud voices, big laughs, and enthusiastic high fives. But not today. Troy was still there, at the head of the table as usual, but he was quiet. The rest of the table followed his mood. In fact, it seemed as though the whole cafeteria were in silent mourning over the recent fate of their fallen leader.

“It’s so quiet in here,” Ema said.

She and I were always on the same wavelength.

“Too quiet,” I said, arching a joking eyebrow.

I wasn’t suicidal enough to smile or laugh out loud, but I didn’t want to be a hypocrite. I hated Troy with pretty good reason, and that wasn’t about to change over this. Yes, I understood how painful it must be to lose a season of basketball, especially now, in your last year of playing with your buddies. But then again, some of us had never had a steady group of buddies to play with. Some of us hadn’t been handed those opportunities, just to toss them away.

I didn’t feel sorry for him.

Troy had cheated by taking PEDs—performance-enhancing drugs. I didn’t buy Brandon’s defense. That was what every athlete said when they were caught—it was a mistake, it was a fix, it wasn’t me. I would probably admire Troy more if he just admitted it. Whatever. It wasn’t my business.

Troy’s table was usually full, but the seat next to his, the one where Buck always sat, was empty. I could usually count on Buck to be staring me down, mouthing that I was a “dead man,” emphasizing the point by making a slashing motion across his neck with his finger. Buck would then make fun of Ema in some cruel way, call her “fugly” or moo at her, a classic insecure bully idiot. I wouldn’t miss him either.

But I did find it odd.

Troy and Buck had been best friends since elementary school. Suddenly, within a few days of one another, Troy had been caught up in a drug scandal and Buck had moved away.

I lowered my head to start eating when I realized that the room had suddenly gone even quieter if possible, as though everyone had decided to hold their breath at the same time.

Then I heard Ema said, “Whoa.”

I lifted my head and felt the familiar jolt.

Rachel Caldwell had entered the cafeteria.

The silence was for a few reasons. One, this was her first return to school since the shooting that had left her mother dead and Rachel wounded. That had been our last . . . I don’t know what the word is . . . case, I guess, for the Abeona Shelter. We had solved it, but the answer remained a carefully guarded secret.

I hadn’t even told Ema.