“Did you really get Galed before first period? Did Gordo beat you up last night? Are you Black or Spanish because I heard Ms. Silverthorn is your—”

“Tawny!” Leeza is laughing.

“I’m just asking!”

Leeza winks at me. “Ignore her.”

“He doesn’t mind!”

“Who says?” Tawny fixes me with a serious look. “Do you?”

Leeza intervenes. “You’re going to make Weese regret sitting with us.”

Weese? My name is only two syllables long, and still, it’s too hard to say? People. Maybe she can tell what I’m thinking. “I love a nickname. That’s okay, right?”

Could be worse. A boy at summer camp one year called me Luisa the whole time, and though I didn’t care that much (no skin off my nose to be seen as girly), I hated the scorn in his voice as he dragged my name into three syllables to show his disgust. And the nickname spread, till half the campers were doing it. Having an ally here will be a good thing.

“Seriously, Weese is fine.”

A melodious voice beckons. “Hey, ladies, may I?”

A skinny Black kid, the width and suppleness of a willow switch, slides into a space on the other side of Leeza. His head is wrapped in a silk do-rag—a bold move considering the rest of the crowd in this hall—and he wears a tracksuit made of what looks like parachute cloth in midnight blue. Purple and yellow parallelograms slash across one leg. He leans past Leeza. “And who might you be?”

Tawny looks nervous—for him? For me? I try to be cool. “Luis. But my friends call me Weese.” Leeza glows. Point scored.

He doesn’t have to say his name. I already know. Chaz Wilson. I’ve traveled through time to dine with the doomed.

What’s Your Damage?

What’s Your Damage?

I’m sure there’s a simple explanation for violet eyes. But it must be some crazy confluence of factors, or it wouldn’t be so rare. I mean, I can’t name anyone but Elizabeth Taylor and that boy from Spain on YouTube, and until this moment, I had never seen anything like it in real life. I try not to stare. And fail.

“You’re new, Weese, so I’ll just get this out of the way: Yes, they’re purple; yes, they’re real; no, I’m not an alien.”

Leeza breaks out a laugh. “You so are! I mean, look around you.”

Chaz kisses her on the cheek. “And that is why I love you.” He sits back and sizes me up. “You’ve been here how long? This girl already has a bestie, so step off!” He says this completely without animosity, and it feels like an invitation to join them, but she punches his arm anyway, and he swats back. “I was about to say—”