Art class didn’t bring him out of his funk either. Mrs. Caroline commented that his sketches lately almost seemed unfinished. “Are you sure you don’t want to add more?” she said, tapping the still life of a bowl of fruit they’d been assigned that day.

He shook his head. He didn’t explain himself further to Mrs. Caroline, either. In a way, he thought it was perfect unfinished. It felt more honest to him.

His Tuesday looked to be more of the same until lunchtime, when he realized that he’d left his food in the refrigerator at home. His stomach grumbled in response, and he was shocked at his first thought: I should see if the Room has any food.

No. He wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

So he stood in line, collected his unappetizing meal, and then had to make a choice: Where was he going to sit?

His eyes fell on his usual spot, but the Table of Misfits was empty except for Pat, planted in the same spot as always at the far end of the table. His face was buried in a book.

Empty was okay for the moment. He didn’t see the rest of the Misfits anywhere, and he figured he could just leave if things got too weird.

He was by himself for a full minute before the bench across from Héctor squealed as it was pulled across the tile.

Jackson plopped down. “’Sup, Héctor.”

Héctor forced a corner of his mouth to curl up, but that was it. “Hi,” he said.

Aishah approached the table, too, and she sat to Héctor’s right. “Hi, Héctor,” she said.

“You guys don’t have to sit with me,” said Héctor. “I’ll understand.”

“I’ll sit anywhere I want,” Aishah said without hesitation. “Besides, you are not going to become Pat part two at this table.”

“What?” said Héctor.

She gestured with a spork toward Pat. “Y’all are literally as far apart as humanly possible.”

Taylor appeared behind Jackson. “What’s good, Héctor? Nice to have you back!”

“Is it?” he said.

Aishah frowned at him. “Yes, Héctor, of course it is!”

“It’s been so weird without you,” Taylor added. “Well, plus, things have changed a little bit.”

“Changed how?” said Héctor.

As if on cue, a new person sat at the Table of Misfits in between Jackson and Taylor.

Carlos.

Héctor’s reaction was pure instinct: he pushed his tray forward and stood up.

“What is he doing here?” he said.

This wasn’t happening! It didn’t matter that Carlos had turned on Mike. How long had Carlos tormented all of them? Were the others forgetting that?