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We parked and made our way inside, the fluorescent hallways quiet at this hour. The event wasn’t supposed to start for another twenty minutes, but knowing Mateo, he’d probably already be there and have ordained Jamie as his second-in-command.
When we stepped into the classroom, I was immediately hit with the scent of cookies and coffee.
And banners.
So many banners.
Jamie had clearly poured his entire soul into this.
Bright, colorful posters lined the walls, some with inspirational quotes, others with simple messages like “You Belong Here” and “It’s Okay To Be You.”
In the center of the room, a folding table was stacked with refreshments, and Mateo stood behind it, calmly setting up napkins like he was arranging a Michelin-star meal.
Jamie, on the other hand, was vibrating like a chihuahua who’d found a bottle of Ritalin.
Mike took one look at him and immediately switched from nervous wreck to protective older brother.
“Jamie!” he said, striding over. “Holy shit, the room looks amazing.”
Jamie turned, wide-eyed and blinking so rapidly I worried his lids might take flight. “You think so?”
Mateo snorted. “No, we hate it. That’s why we’re both standing here admiring it.”
Jamie rolled his eyes but still looked like he might burst into happy tears.
I, meanwhile, took a different approach.
I strolled over to a chair in the back and dropped into it like one of Mike’s football players, arms crossed, legs stretched out.
Mike arched a brow at me. “Elliot, what are you doing?”
I smirked. “Supervising.”
Mateo grinned. “We finally found Elliot’s natural habitat.”
“Yeah,” Jamie added, smiling for the first time all night. “The back row with the jocks who don’t wanna be here.”
I smiled back, threading my fingers behind my head and propping my feet on the chair in front of me—just like Mike said the footballers did. “I’m just here for the show.”
Mike rolled his eyes but smiled. The tension in his shoulders appeared to ease just a little.
Fifteen minutes later, we were still setting up, still nervously waiting. No one had arrived yet. Jamie was buzzing with nervous energy, bouncing on the balls of his feet, adjusting the same banner for the fourth time.
“People will come,” Mateo assured him, popping a piece of chocolate into his mouth. “It’s still early.”
Mike nodded, but his hands had found his shirt again, tugging, adjusting, fidgeting.
That’s when I saw him.
A boy, maybe fifteen, appeared in the doorway, hovering like he was trying to decide whether to walk in or run for his life.
His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, his head down, curly brown hair falling into his eyes. His shoulders were curled inward, making himself smaller, like he was trying to disappear.
He was terrified, I realized.
Jamie, Mike, and Mateo were too caught up in their setup to notice him.
So I stood up, keeping my movements slow and deliberate, and walked toward the door.