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One kid, peering at Mason, goes ghost-white, so Sebastian says, “Just feed his ego and you’ll be fine.”

When Sebastian reaches the end of the line, his jerky heart slams against his ribs. Where’s the off-switch for all these damn childhood memories that flood his mind? Emir’s “what the hell, dude!” glare quickly remedies that problem.

“Hey.” Sebastian grins nervously. “Emir?”

Emir scowls at him. His eyes are hypnotic—storm-cloud gray. Up close, moss green surrounds his irises.

“I mean, I know it’s you!” Sebastian laughs nervously, but Emir does nothing more than raise an exasperated brow. “It’s—it’syou. Here, at camp. And I wasn’t expecting that.” He sizes Emir up. Last year, Emir was a skateboard punk with tall, waxy hair and ripped jeans, a fan of band T-shirts and Vans. This isn’tthatguy.

“Yeah,” Emir deadpans.

With sweaty palms, Sebastian tries another tactic: smiling like a psychopath. He’s taken aback by Emir. He’s used to hanging out with meatheads: guys who watch, play, and breathe the game. Stereotypes suck, but most of Sebastian’s teammates fit the mold.

“It’s good to see you?” It’s not supposed to come out as a question. “I remember, um, when we were younger—”

“We practically potty-trained together. Glad you remembered,” says Emir, dryly. His eyes flit around as if he wants to make sure no one catches them interacting.

Is being seen with me that awful?

“Yeah,” Sebastian says. “We’ve known each other that long, haven’t we?”

“Mmhm.”

Sebastian is distracted by the way rays of sunlight spread over Emir, highlighting the smoothness of his brown skin. His matured appearance is different in a good way. But his scowl gut-punches Sebastian back to reality.

“Your parents—from Yorkshire, right?” Sebastian winces. Making useless conversation isn’t a good icebreaker, but he just wants Emir to lighten up. “Your family moved over here when you were four. Our moms would have lunch together.”

Emir nods but doesn’t say much else.

Sebastian tries again. “My dad is from—”

“Sheffield,” Emir interrupts.

Sebastian’s mouth nearly splits his face—Emir remembers—but his delight dissolves at Emir’s annoyed expression.

“So, you’re here. At camp. And, um, why?”

Smooth move, douchebag, Sebastian thinks.

“What’s up with you, mate?” Emir hisses. His jaw tightens. “Should I not be here? You don’t want me getting in the way of your little team? Mucking things up, right?”

Sebastian gasps, adding to the utter embarrassment he’s accumulated. “Wait,what?”

“Don’t worry,” Emir says while shaking his head. “I won’t be in the way for long. I’m not any good. The coaches will either bench me or just kick me off the team. You don’t have to pretend like I’m one of the boys.” He stomps off toward the cabins, muttering “I thought you were better than that” just loud enough for Sebastian to hear.

A little supernova explodes in Sebastian’s brain, leaving him lightheaded.Did that just happen?

Willie and Mason flank him with sympathetic smiles. They had a clear view of Sebastian the Idiot. Like all his previous failures, he’s never living this one down.

“That guy has being an asshole down to a science,” Mason mumbles. He hooks an arm around Sebastian’s extremely tight shoulders.

“He’s just new,” Willie says.

“Whatever.”

“Give him a chance.”

Mason groans. “No, seriously, Will. We all know Shah’s a loner who never wanted to hang with any of us. This isn’t his crowd.”