I turn and realize he’s extending his hand. I don’t shake it, and he smiles again.
“Nice to meet you, Everest. That was really cruel of your parents, naming you after a mountain,” I say politely.
“Everett, not Everest.”
I pretend not to hear him.
“Don’t worry, it’s all good,” he says in a smooth voice. “I’ll let you call me whatever you want on our first date.”
I just stare at him. “Enjoy the rest of your morning, Everest.”
“Everett,” he corrects again, unfazed by my little attempt to get the upper hand. He pops his earbuds back in and takes a step down the trail.
Good. He’s leaving.
Chuckling softly, he skips into a run and heads off at an even pace, but when he’s about five yards away, he glances at me over his shoulder.
“See you Monday.”
four
Capital Punishment
I don’t sleep well the night before my first day at Crockett High. Nerves this time. Not nightmares. I wake early again and go on the trail. I tell myself I’m going to take more pictures, but that’s not the whole truth. Part of me is hoping I see Everett again, but he doesn’t show up, and I wind up getting a lot of predawn photos of the Smoky Mountains instead.
When I return to the house, Jasmine is standing right outside our bathroom, a curling iron looped through her hair. “Where were you? Why aren’t you ready?”
“What do you mean? I’m—”
“We only have twenty minutes before the bus!”
I glance down at my ripped jeans, black tank top, and combat boots. “That’s fine. I’m—”
“You’re not going like that, are you?” she says, wrinkling her nose.
Well, I was planning on it. But now that I see Jasmine’s ensemble, I’m second-guessing myself. She’s wearing a short plaid skirt and a tiny red crop top. Her hair is in perfect waves down her back, makeup fully applied.
I want to blend in so I won’t become the shiny new toy everyone’s looking at, but I also don’t want to look likethat. That’s not and never has been my style.
“I’m good.”
“But you’re not even wearing any makeup!” she accuses, peering too closely at my face.
“I have mascara on,” I point out. “And some lip gloss. I don’t usually wear more than that.”
She gives me a look that saysYour funeraland trots out of the bedroom in her knee-high boots, hoisting a canvas messenger bag over her shoulder.
I grab my own bag, which Aunt Maggie stocked with tons of brand-spanking-new school supplies, so it’s heavy even before I get my books. I follow Jasmine out to the kitchen, where Connor is standing in front of the open fridge, chugging OJ directly from the carton. He’s wearing ratty gym shorts and a hoodie—funny howhecan get away with looking like he rolled right out of bed.
“Ew, stop being so gross,” Jasmine moans, nudging him in the ribs so he lurches and almost spits the OJ out at her. “Quit drooling in the juice and come on. We’ll be late.”
He rolls his eyes. “Counting the days until I get my ride and we don’t have to bus it.”
“Like Mom and Dad will ever get you a ride.” Jasmine snorts. Then she calls, “Mom! We’re going!”
Maggie rushes into the kitchen in her bathrobe. “Don’t forget your lunches!”
Jasmine gives her a withering look. “Mother. We always buy.”
