I laugh. “Did you, though?”

He pauses. “No, but to be fair, Arnold’s still coming into himself; he’ll get there.” He points over at a kid who looks like he’s still in middle school and reading a book upside down. “He’ll come into his own, I have a feeling.”

“Oh yeah.” I nod. “I can see it; he’ll be great.”

“Hey, don’t mock Arnold.” He points a finger at me and leans in. “Sooooo, now that I’ve told you all my dirty, dirty gossip, you ready to tell me yours?”

“I don’t know you.”

“Ohhh, I’m sorry, I’ll explain… this is how friendship works. I’m here, you’re here, conversation happens, carrots are eaten, I tell you about my amazing math skills, and you tell me why Ambrose won’t even look at you anymore despite the fact that you’re living with him.”

I instantly freeze, I grip my tray like I always do and stand, but my hands won’t stop shaking. Why can’t they stop shaking?

I stumble backward, then trip over my own feet and fall onto the ground. I swear you can hear the crash around the loud cafeteria as carrots and ketchup fall all over my body, covering part of my face and uniform.

Quinn’s eyes widen.

And then just silence.

I’m brought back to the time when I first went to Ambrose’s house and felt like a freak. This is that same feeling, maybe worse because the entire school’s watching.

Slowly, I get to my feet.

Quinn holds out his hand and helps me to my feet while people murmur around us. I try to act normal as he hands me a napkin, and then I hear footsteps behind me. They’re loud.

Purposeful.

I take a deep breath.

I don’t turn around.

I don’t have to.

I know that walk.

I feel that sigh.

It’s part of me now.

He’s part of me.

Quinn grabs my hand and pulls me close to him just as a finger taps my shoulder.

Quinn’s eyes are wide.

I’m sure mine and everyone else’s mirror his… after all, Ambrose went from popular guy to god of this school. He bows to no one. He’s not just popular, not just perfect; he has the money, the looks, and the personality, to back it up.

And he’s the heir to everything.

He’s basically sitting on the Iron Throne while the rest of us rest in the dungeon, just waiting to get eaten by dragons.

Slowly, I turn.

He looks the same as always. I’ve tried to forget how beautiful his face is, just like I’ve tried to forget the taste of his mouth, but the problem with tasting perfection?

Nothing will ever compare.

I steel my expression.

“Foster Girl,” he says. It’s what he calls me now as if to draw a line in the sand that we aren’t siblings. I’m no longer family. I’m just this random interloper he never had or wanted, annoying the hell out of him.

Tears burn the back of my eyes as I whisper with trembling lips, “Random stranger I live with.”