“I don’t know your name.” It takes Caleb forty-six seconds to barge through the quiet. I don’t realize I’m counting them until he speaks.

“I surmised as much,” I reply acerbically.

“You know who I am.”

“The secretary called you Winters.” No way am I admitting to him I already knew exactly who he is. But I’ve already told him I’m not new to town, and even those who are know the Winters name. He knows I already knew. Knowing something and admitting it are two different things, though. “She called me by my name too, you know.” I can’t resist the dig. Although it suddenly dawns on me I’m essentially just emphasizing the fact he didn’t care enough to remember my last name when the secretary said it, which is not exactly the point I was hoping to get across.

Caleb doesn’t say anything as we pass the door marked 206 and finally arrive at our shared homeroom. I yank at the door handle, and yet another squeaky set of hinges announces our arrival. The custodial staff may have scrubbed the floors spotless, but some oil would have served me much better today than gleaming tiles to stomp along.

I’ve spent many sleepless nights wondering how uncomfortable it might be to encounter my classmates this August morning. Being entirely ignored was a best-case scenario. Arriving late with Caleb Winters in tow is essentially the polar opposite of the incognito entrance I was hoping to make.

“Ms. Lennon Matthews, I presume?” My attention is drawn away from the sea of familiar faces staring openly at me to the middle-aged woman standing in the front of the room. Her lips are pursed, and she looks less than pleased about our late arrival. A tight bun exacerbates her stern face and crossed arms.

Despite my lingering annoyance towards the boy I can feel hovering behind me, my manners kick in automatically.

“Yes, ma’am,” I confirm. There’s a sharp intake of breath behind me, and I have to battle the urge to look behind me and witness the moment Caleb Winters realizes I’m a member of Landry’s most disgraced family. What’s left of it, anyway.

“And this must be Mr. Caleb Winters with you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Caleb steps forward, stopping about five feet to my left. Distancing himself from me. “I’m Caleb Winters.” Confidence saturates his voice, and attention shifts from me to him. Demeaning murmurs morph into excited whispers. Pitying stares become admiring glances.

It doesn’t surprise me. It doesn’t sting. But it does piss me off.

“I’m sorry we’re tardy, ma’am. Caleb thought the room was the other way.” I regret the hasty words as soon as they leave my mouth. I’m not a liar. Or I didn’t use to be. But it’s easy—disarmingly easy—to act poorly if that’s what people expect from you.