I turn to him. “She still thought it was me. She immediately thought I was the one who took the pills.” I can tell by the look on Julian’s face that he doesn’t see the same problem with this as I do.

“Because they were in your room,” he says slowly.

“You don’t understand,” I say, hurt. “I’m always the one who gets accused first. It doesn’t matter what she thinks of me—whether they were in my room or not, she would have always assumed it was me.”

“I do understand,” Julian protests. “I told her I put them in there accidentally, and she believed me. You don’t have anything to worry about. I promise.”

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to explain in a way that he’d understand. I heard what everyone said about me at bingo. I know what they all really think of me. I thought maybe Ms. Birdie was the exception to that, but apparently I was wrong. Julian will never understand what it’s like to always be the first one accused when something goes wrong.

I saw the way people used to look at me and Frankie out of the corner of their eyes when we lived here before. I thought maybe disappearing for a few years would help that. I thought people would have had time to form a new opinion. Or at least be open to getting to know me, rather than thinking of me only as Eric Vance’s no-good son. A screwup, just like his father.

And I know that during those weird middle school years, all those snap judgments might have been justified. I wonder if I had never broken that window, or if word hadn’t gotten around that I was breaking into the office to steal money, I could’ve just been Elijah the football player. Or Elijah, Coley’s uncle.

Or Elijah, Julian’s boyfriend.

I wonder what that would feel like.

· seventeen ·

JULIAN

“Come sit with us!” Nate calls to Elijah as we all carry our plates, piled high with Birdie’s spaghetti, to a table near the front of the Crossroads Church multipurpose room.

Elijah just waves at Nate and offers up a completely fake smile before sitting down at a table near the back. By himself.

“What’s eating him?” Bucky asks, tucking a napkin into his shirt collar.

“Eh, who knows? Maybe he just wants to be alone,” I say.

But maybe I do know.

I don’t understand what the big deal was about Birdie and the pills. She believed my little white lie, and Elijah didn’t get into any trouble. But apparently he’s still upset enough about it to spend the team dinner at a table by himself.

“Hey, should we all dress the same for the Guardettes’ dance tomorrow night?” Darien asks, interrupting my thoughts.