Coach Morris looked over at Mrs. Pyles. “Mrs. Pyles, would you please escort Mr. Beck out of my classroom before I lose my temper?”

Mrs. Pyles stared at him for a moment then walked toward Brady. “All right, Brady, let’s go.”

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Brady said, his voice almost a whine.

“Brady Beck, get out of that chair, or so help me, I will assist Coach Morris in physically removing you from this classroom! Get up! Now!”

Brady leaned back against his seat as Mrs. Pyles leaned toward him. She was angrier than I’d ever seen her. After a moment of shock, Brady scrambled for his things and scurried from the classroom.

“You’ll be hearing from my parents!”

“Oh, goody. Can’t wait,” Coach Morris deadpanned. “Now, back to the facial muscles.”

I scooted down in my seat, feeling the ten pairs of eyes boring into the back of my head.

During seventh period, I kept glancing at Weston’s empty seat and sighing. I didn’t need him to save me, and it was causing him grief. I wasn’t sure why he’d suddenly decided to take me on as a cause, but it was clearly dangerous for both of us.

As I walked to the front of the school at the end of the day, I could see Brady, Brendan, Andrew, and the Erins standing on the corner that I usually crossed, next to their parallel-parked vehicles. Not once since they got their licenses had they congregated there, and I knew the Erins were already late for cheer practice. They were waiting for me.

I refused to take a different route to the Dairy Queen and lifted my chin as I approached, keeping my eyes forward.

“Hey,” Sonny said. “We need to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” I said, gripping the black, nylon straps of my backpack so tight my fingers hurt.

Alder smirked. “Maybe not, but we have a lot to say to you.”

Brady grabbed my arm and flipped me around. “Don’t be a fucking cunt. Let her speak.”

I yanked my arm away, and just as the Erins were approaching me, a big, red truck pulled in next to us, the front tires climbing the curb with ease.

The driver’s side door slammed, and Weston ran around the front, wedging his shoulder between Brady’s hand and my arm.

“What are you doing, man?” Weston said.

Brady’s expression turned severe. “What am I doing? What’s wrong with you? Why are you busting my balls over this skank?”

“Just leave her alone, man,” Weston said, trying to keep his voice calm.

“Weston,” Alder said, reaching for his fingers. She looked like a beautiful, poisonous snake as she lithely crawled up Weston’s side, rising on the balls of her feet. She kissed the corner of his mouth softly.

I had to fight a sudden bout of nausea.

Weston pulled away from her. “Go, Easter,” he said quietly over his shoulder.

I turned on my heels and kept walking, refusing to look back. For the next five blocks, I tried to push the revolting image of Erin’s toxic lips touching Weston. It was common knowledge that they were each other’s firsts, but I tried not to think about it, and had successfully read all signs of oncoming PDA between the two for the last five years.