“I know I need to start thinking about it,” Julian complains, shaking his head. “The whole thing is just so, so stupid,” he says, throwing back his head and shouting the word stupid to the treetops.

“Yeah, we all know your feelings about it, Juls, but that doesn’t mean the entire town isn’t waiting for you to make your move. You can’t let Taylor strike first. You know what that will mean,” Camille says.

“What will that mean?” I ask.

Julian lets out a dramatic huff. “Camille, quit being bananas about that stuff. I’m not interested in town superstitions. We’ve got a better team this year than we’ve had since we started at Crenshaw. There’s no way we’re losing.”

“What will it mean if Taylor strikes first?” I ask again.

“The prank war with Taylor usually starts a few weeks before homecoming, you know. A bunch of little pranks leading up to The Big One,” she says, holding her arms wide to describe “The Big One.”

“I always thought it was just one stupid prank right before homecoming,” I interrupt.

“See? Even Elijah thinks the pranks are dumb,” Julian says, gently adjusting his backpack. I notice he’s not putting a lot of weight on his left side.

Camille ignores Julian. “ANYWAY. It started out years ago as just one prank, but it’s kind of grown into a whole thing. There’s a superstition that whoever strikes first is going to win the game. And at least for the past four years, that’s been completely true.” Camille whispers the last sentence for dramatic effect.

“There’s a superstition for everything surrounding this Taylor game,” Julian says. “Gotta strike first, can’t ever say we have it in the bag, gotta wear blue socks on game day.” He ticks them off on his fingers as we walk. “For the past few years, we haven’t had a team that could beat Taylor, Camille. That’s possibly why we didn’t win.” He rolls his eyes.

I laugh and my insides warm. This is exactly what this should feel like. Julian and Camille and I are laughing and joking around on our way to school. No one is awkward. No one is excluded from the conversation. Just three friends walking together.

Julian pats his side gently when Camille isn’t looking, and I see him take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I know he’s hurting, and I wish there was more I could do for him. Parsley is a ridiculous home remedy I saw the internet a million years ago. I don’t know if it actually helps, but when I saw that bruise spreading over Julian’s ribs, I figured it was worth a try.