“We have so many responsibilities,” Claudette continues. “We’re co-captains for football and basketball spirit squads. And we’re on student council and we single-handedly put the prom on this year because the junior class has negative school spirit.” Here she stops to glare at me and Grimshaw. “Because some people never show up for anything.”

“So?” I rise to the bait. “What’s to show up for?”

“There is such a thing called pride,” Angel says, studying her nails without looking at me.

“What’s to be proud of?” I ask. “I don’t see it.”

“That reflects on you,” says Claudette.

“Even so—” Mom interjects.

Claudette turns her attention back to my mother “And we teach Sunday school,” she finishes triumphantly.

“Except I don’t teach Sunday school,” Angel says, holding up her hand. “Just saying.”

“Where’s Junior Davis?” Mr. C. interrupts. “Wasn’t he supposed to be here, too?”

“Well, he did fail the exam,” says my mother. “But clearly other things are taking precedence for him today.”

“He has a training schedule,” Claudette says, using her indignant little head-wag. “He’s going to a scouting camp, which is a pretty big deal, like, for his future?”

“He’s the only chance Colchis has at winning any games next year,” Angel points out. “Like, at all.”

“He can’t play next year if he fails a class,” I tell her. “It’s policy. Read the handbook.” The handbook is on my mother’s desk, covered in gold and purple paper. “Here.”

My mother stands up and takes the handbook away from me. “I will decide about Junior,” she says. “The four of you can wait outside while Mr. C. and I talk this over.”

We file out past Mrs. Kmiec, the principal’s secretary. Mrs. Kmiec has been at Colchis High so long that nobody even sees her anymore. She just sits there at that big steel desk of hers, like lichen on a rock. Angel and Claudette repair immediately to the girls’ room, while Grimshaw and I sit like bookends on the losers’ bench outside the principal’s office.

“Do you think we’ll fail?” Grimshaw whispers.