“You know you can come talk to me whenever you need anything, right? My classroom here is always open for you. And Ernie and I would be more than happy to see your face on our doorstep some evening for a Coke and a chat on the porch. No invitation necessary.”

“I know.”

“I hope you’re not just saying that. I really mean it. I know it can’t be easy to have Elijah living with you right now.”

Even just the mention of his name out loud makes my cheeks burn and my stomach flip. There’s a lump in my throat, and it’s not from the chicken. Figg has a way of seeing right to the heart of things even if I dance around the details.

“I’m sure having him in your house is probably stirring up some things for you, huh?” he says quietly.

I just nod. I never told him about Elijah and me and what happened in the locker room freshman year. Not in so many words, anyway. I remember him asking me if I was okay after I realized the Vances had moved away, and I lied and told him I was fine. Of course, he didn’t believe me, but he never said that. He just invited me to eat lunch in his classroom if I ever needed a break, and that was enough.

“I get that,” Figg says. “If you need to talk it through, I’m here.”

“Thanks, Figg. That means something,” I tell him.

“I won’t bring it up again unless you want me to. You know where to find me.”

He holds the cardboard box in his palm and sits down on the desk, his legs dangling in front of him.

“Did you see the Taylor flag outside this morning?” I ask, changing the subject. I drag a nugget through the last of the applesauce and toss it in my mouth.

Figg rolls his eyes. “Yep. Guess Taylor struck first this year, huh? Is that on your mind, too?”

“I don’t know why we even have to have this stupid prank war.” The words burst out of me in a rush. “And why is it all up to me? As if I don’t have enough on my plate right now! This whole stupid town is just waiting to see how we’re going to retaliate. It’s such a waste of time.”

Figg laughs and strokes his salt-and-pepper beard. “You sound like your father.”

I stop chewing and swallow. It’s not the first time someone has said that I sound like him. Or that I remind them of him. I wish I knew what they meant.

“How do you mean?” I ask quietly, covering up the rest of my lunch with a napkin.

“He wasn’t too keen on the pranks, either,” Figg says. “I remember his senior year, he wanted to do away with the tradition completely. Even started a petition!”