“So where are you from, Anora?” a boy with short, black hair and a great smile asks me. His name is Jacobi. From what I gather, he’s on the football team and one of Shy’s best friends. I notice others have started to stare, and I feel like a lion’s prey. I think about Roundtable. What do these people want from me that they haven’t found there?

“Chicago.”

“Why’d you move to Oklahoma?”

“My mom moved here for a job.” I echo the lie I told Natalie. It is the easiest thing to say—and the most normal. Lots of kids move because of their parents, right? I catch Shy’s gaze as I answer. It says: That’s not so complicated.

“Oh, that’s cool,” Jacobi responds.

“I heard you got kicked out of school.” Natalie’s declaration surrounds me like a net cast out for capture, and I go rigid, tightening my fists in my lap. She stares at me, and the voices at our table go quiet. I wonder if people believe everything that comes out of her mouth since her father is headmaster. She clearly has access to whatever file he has on me. Lennon was right: she is in everyone’s business.

“Starting rumors already, Natalie?” That question comes from Shy and surprises me—why does he think she’s lying?

She lifts her chin and her eyes narrow. It reminds me of the look a cat might give a mouse before it pounces. “It’s not a rumor.”

Everyone’s watching me, but I don’t owe them an explanation. Maybe I started fights, maybe I set fires, or maybe I broke down because I can see the dead. I prefer any of those over the actual truth.

At Shy’s dismissal, Natalie lets the subject drop, and the table lapses into a discussion of Friday’s game and next week’s homecoming events. It’s the third time I’ve heard about homecoming today, and with Shy sitting beside me, his warmth seeming to draw me closer to him, I start to entertain the idea of going…which is dangerous.

I make the mistake of looking at him and find he’s watching me.

I don’t tell him to stop this time.

He nods to my plate encouragingly. “The food’s really not so bad.”

I reach for the burger and take a big bite, ketchup oozing onto my fingers. The food is gritty, and all I can taste is tomatoes. I want to spit it out, but Shy is watching, and how attractive would that be?

Just as attractive as throwing up, I remind myself as I manage to swallow my mostly unchewed food, wincing as it goes down.

That’s enough of that.