“Sorry, I’m not up-to-date on all my Greenwood Athletics gossip.” I grabbed the rest of my books from my locker and slammed it shut, spinning the combination lock. “You leave stage crew with thirty splinters a day from reusing plywood from the ‘80s for set pieces and I’m running the risk of mild electrocution every time I run the sound board for the plays, but the thirty guys on the football team deserve new letterman jackets twice a year.”

Her fingers bit into my arm. “Dare is looking this way.”

“No, he’s not.” Please don’t let him be looking my way. I sent up my silent prayer to the god of high school survival.

“Holy shit, yes he is.” Her grip tightened.

Was she trying to pinch my bones?

“Piper, holy crap.” I yelped and yanked my arm from her grasp.

“He was definitely looking this way.” Her gaze was trained at the mob of people over my shoulder.

‘This way’ as in at me? Why would he look at me? Because of my music? That had to be long-forgotten locker room fodder already. The New Girl that lives behind me plays music. It sucked and it was hilarious watching her nearly cry on her back porch. It was so terrible, I slammed the door closed trying to block it out. Which was worse? Laughing at my expense or not knowing I was alive at all?

I turned slowly, like a serial killer was standing beside me with the knife raised over my head. The low thud of shoes against the slick linoleum floor signaled their arrival to my row of lockers.

His neck and shoulder breezed past me without a glance or nod of acknowledgement.

Piper adjusted the straps to her backpack. “I swear, he looked at you.”

“Probably trying to figure out where he’d seen me before.”

“You never talk to him ever?”

After my first day in the hallway? I’d been happy to avoid him at all costs. “Why would I? I’m surprised you do. People still call me The New Girl.”

Her forehead crinkled. “You are, though.”

“I’ve been here for over three years! How does that make me new?”

“You’re one of the newest.” She shrugged. “Small towns are weird like that.”

“No shit. Plus, my actual name is a whole syllable less than calling me The New Girl. You’d think people would want to put less effort, not more, into mocking someone.”

She looked back at me over her shoulder, waving her unicorn-topped pencil at me. “Weird or not, Dare was totally looking at you.”

“So what? Maybe he liked my shirt.” I tugged out the bottom hem of the Hamilton t-shirt Piper had bought me for my birthday and did a twirl.

“You’re right. I’m sure he’s looking for fashion advice.”

I laughed at her deadpanned reply.

“He did beat the shit out of Aaron Smith’s car over the weekend.”

A hazy image of a nondescript guy with hair and eyes flittered through my brain. “He did?”