At lunch, all anyone can talk about is Elijah.

“I heard he was in prison, just like his dad,” a girl whispers, scooping a heap of syrupy fruit cocktail onto her lunch tray. I roll my eyes. That “Elijah ended up in prison” theory made the rounds when he never returned from his suspension, and it’s just as stupid now as it was then. Maybe even more so.

“He’s in my physics class. He sat in the back and never even took out a pencil,” another guy says when I pass his table.

“I can’t believe Ms. Jackson is letting him stay at her house.”

“I can’t believe they’re letting him back on the football team.”

“Wait, what?” I stop short at a table full of marching band kids. Camille’s drum major ex-boyfriend, Evan, is holding court in the middle of the percussion section. I’ve always thought Evan was a giant ass, and I’m very glad Camille finally came to the same conclusion last year.

“Yeah, I heard Coach Marcus in the hallway this morning. Something about everyone deserving a second chance, blah blah blah,” Evan tells me. “Everyone better hide their wallets,” he says to his friends. They all reward his smart-ass comment with hearty laughter.

“Are you sure you heard that?” I ask him.

“You mean you didn’t know? Aren’t you the captain of the team?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

I walk away from the table without a word. The conversation I overheard at last night’s football practice between Coaches Marcus and Andrews must have been about Elijah. Does Birdie know? As booster club president, sometimes she knows things about the team even before the coaches do.

If even Evan knew before I did… I try to shake it off. Elijah was good at football. He worked hard. Maybe he’ll be good for the team. The defense could use a little help.

I mumble that to myself all the way through lunch and history. It’ll be good for the team. It’ll be good for the team. It doesn’t help. I’m fuming mad by the time I get to practice during seventh period. Birdie had to have known.

She could have told me last night. I’m the captain of this team. Shouldn’t that afford me some kind of privilege? Someone could have told me that Elijah was not only coming back to Meridien but was going to start playing on my team again. My team. The team I’ve been a part of for four years. I feel like I’ve been building this family since ninth grade. After Elijah left without saying a word. And he’s just going to waltz onto the field and start playing again?

I swing the heavy locker room door open harder than I intend to, and it slams against the wall.