Trace smiles, about to speak, when our waitress comes around the corner of the dining room and slides a few menus onto our tabletop. She has that uncanny flawless beauty reserved mostly for models in cosmetic ads; twentysomething, her long black hair pulled into a ponytail, her lips penciled red with laser precision. Her name tag reads Daisy. “It’s you.” She folds her arms, leveling a look at Trace.

“It is.”

“No school again, huh.”

He takes a menu. “Teachers’ conference.”

“They have a lot of those.”

“They certainly do.” The rest of us study the tabletop, the floor, the window, but Trace gazes back at her in his best impression of a plaster saint. “Hate to lose valuable class time, but it is what it is, Daze.”

She pulls her mouth to the side, nodding slowly. “You’re lucky I don’t give a shit about your ignorance.” She takes the menu out of his hand. “Buffet, I’m assuming.”

“Naturally. And some of your finest bubbly for my friends.” Trace teepees his fingers as she walks away.

Sage shakes her head. “If the crab Rangoon weren’t so amazing, no way would I let you come here to flirt with her.”

“Flirt? I’m covering our asses. Can’t hurt to be on good terms with the people who can turn you in, right? Right?” But Sage is going to load up at the buffet table. Raising his eyebrows, Trace follows her, and we slide out, too, letting Moon leave the booth, jamming to whatever’s in his earbuds.

“You coming?” Bree looks back at me.

“That’s okay. I’m good.” I start to slide into the booth.

“Don’t worry about the money.” Bree waits. “Seriously. You’re covered.”

She doesn’t elaborate. I have a hard time believing she has the cash to pay for us both, but I’m learning, with Bree, that if she says it, she means it. By the time we sit down with our lunch, Daisy’s back with our bubbly, soda in plastic pebbled glasses.

A flash of motion outside the window. I look up in time to watch Kincaid glide by the glass on the next wall, then push up the wheelchair ramp to the entrance. Bree squeezes my forearm under the table, almost painfully. Like I needed a signal. Seeing him is an adrenaline shot to the heart.

I’ll never get tired of the way he doesn’t fit into a room, his slow mosey accompanied with the jingle of his wallet chain on the rare occasions when he has his feet on the ground.