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“Take two,” she tells Mason, pushing a pill bottle at him. “They’re for motion sickness but should do the trick. And they’re herbal.”

“Who and what is happening?” Mason asks. “Willie, dude, did you do this?”

Willie is bright red, laughing at something Hunter says, and unaware of Mason’s existence.

“Don’t be a jerk,” Grey mumbles.

Mason snatches the bottle; pills rattle inside. He pops the top and downs two, grimacing. Over his coffee cup, he glares weakly at her.

“These will kill me, won’t they? Is that your plot?”

“You think I want to kill you?” Grey asks.

“I think you want to do a lot of things to me.” Mason leaves his statement open for interpretation.

“Listen.” Grey sighs, rubbing her temples. “I caught Charlie ralphing his guts up in the bushes and covered for you guys when Rivera came asking about it. I deserve a ‘Thanks, Grey’ at least.”

Mason gives her a thumbs-up before returning to his coffee.

Lifting an eyebrow, Sebastian turns to Grey. “Really?This?” he asks, pointing at Mason, who has found a conversation with Charlie to keep him distracted from Grey.

Willie peeks at them. Sebastianknowshe invited Grey to their table. Willie’s that guy who’s friends with everyone. The entire senior class back in Bloomington gets a high-five or a “Hey, beautiful” for the girls. Popularity’s easy for Willie. Sebastian’s wagering on Willie for Homecoming King.

Around Sebastian, guys talk about SAT scores, AP classes, and prom. Willie raises an eyebrow dramatically when Hunter mentions attending UCLA. Mason’s still undecided. Sebastian slouches, waiting for a subject change, and Coach Patrick provides it.

“Guys, guys!” he yells from the front of the room. “Rest up today. Tomorrow, we start practicing for the Spartans. I’ve got some footage of their spring practices. Are we ready?”

Grunts break out around the room, steady as the rhythm of a drumline.

“You’re gonna take them down this year, right?”

Now tables rattle; a few guys slam their trays.

“We’re Lions, correct?”

Growls and roars echo against the walls. Jack tries to maul Smith. Coach is great at riling the guys up. Sebastian chews his thumbnail. Coach Patrick will always be his favorite.

“He’s stressed about the first game,” Grey confesses when the room starts to clear out. She fiddles with a curl. “Our offense is good, but the defense needs work.”

Sebastian nods; he has his elbows on the table with his chin in his hands.

To his left, Mason says, “Then I guess Willie better get back on the field.”

Eyeing the table, Willie tugs a hand through his hair. His mouth is drawn into a thin white line. Hunter pulls on Willie’s ear until he lifts his chin. They get lost in a conversation about video games.

Sebastian hasn’t figured out how to get Willie out of his funk, but at least Hunter’s around.

“Go, Bloomington!” someone shouts on the way out the door.

“Go, Lions,” Sebastian whispers.

The bank of windows on the side of the room lets in blasts of sun and heat that make Sebastian want to go for a swim. At the table under the windows, Emir is folded awkwardly with a comic book balanced on his knees. A mostly untouched bowl of fruit sits by his elbow. Trails of dark fringe fall over his brow, helping to hide his eyes. But his mouth is hanging open; he must be captivated by whatever he’s reading. Sebastian stares at his lips, slick with spit from a pink tongue, and—

“Bastian, bro.”

Mason snaps fingers at him. Sebastian nearly falls out of his seat but catches his balance by smacking his hands on the table. It almost tips over. Four sets of wide eyes stare at him, and his cheeks burn. Breathless, he tries to speak but only gets out, “Um, yeah, swimming sounds like a great idea!” He’s pretty sure no one was talking about swimming.

“Okay,” Mason drawls with a raised eyebrow. “I need a nap, but yes. Go. Swim away.”