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My breath once again holds that afternoon when my father gets home. He immediately launches into an irritated conversation with my mother about the theology class he wants to mandate—no mention of my detention at all. I actually got away with it.

On Tuesday, it’s raining outside, so I go to lunch in the cafeteria with Kappy and Zoe for the first time. At the Bright Covenant schools, you bring your own lunch and can buy a carton of whole milk, but nothing more. Here, there are hundreds of options—pizza, chicken, burgers, French fries. Pie or ice cream or cake or all three. Chocolate milk or juice or sparkling water. It’s like a food court mall, if all that food were free.

My father wants healthier, plainer options, but he can’t do it all overnight. I’m just glad he hasn’t gotten around to it yet.

I get a slice of pizza—a rare treat, something I only had at birthday parties in my old community—and chocolate milk, which is even rarer.

“Did you know,” says Kappy, as we take our seats, “that we share sixty percent of our DNA with a banana?”

“Bullshit,” says Zoe.

Lauren laughs. “Don’t try to argue facts with Miss Future Geneticist over here.”

Ford sits three tables from us, with all of his friends. He’s got his top buttons undone and his tie askew, shoulders straining against the seams of his oxford.

He’s laughing at something his friend just said and he doesn’t look evil at all. He looks like a boy who shows up at your door with flowers, nervously scuffing his shoe on the mat as he meets your parents for the first time. And at the same time, he looks like the boy whose hand slid up my rib cage on Friday, who palmed my breast. A muscle spasms low in my stomach at the memory just as his eyes catch mine.

His smile fades, but I don’t see belligerence on his face. I see confusion and regret and something else I can’t put a name to, though I wish I could.

“So, are all of those boys dating the Kendalls?” I ask, nodding toward the table where Ford sits.

Kappy shrugs. “Isn’t Phillip sort of dating Dani?” She looks at Zoe.

Zoe shakes her head. “I think that’s over.”

They aren’t answering the question I really wanted to ask.

I clear my throat. “I thought Ford was probably dating one of them, and that’s why they’ve been gunning for me so hard.”

Zoe and Kappy both laugh. “Ford?” asks Kappy. “Mr. Unapproachable? No way.”

“I thought you said he was nice,” I argue.

“He’s very nice,” she says. “But he’s also super driven. I’ve never seen him date anyone, and every last one of the Kendalls has tried. He’s too focused on getting through school.”

I blink. “I mean...he’s obviously not a saint. You know what he did to my house.”

Zoe and Kappy exchange another look. “Uh, the rumor is that it was some guys on the team,” says Zoe. “Ford took the fall for it because, you know, he’s the team captain. Better for him to say he did it than rat out the entire defensive line.”

It can’t be true, can it? Ford admitted he’d vandalized our house, and he’s the only person with a strong motive and yet...aside from his occasional smirk and what happened in the hall last week, have I seen even the slightest sign that he was the culprit? I want to tell myself that Zoe and Kappy are so blinded by Ford’s looks and good student act that they can’t see the truth.

But is it possible that I’ve been so blinded by a story my parents have been telling about Ford that I can’t see it either?

Before I can ponder that further, something swings into my head from behind. I cry out in pain as the milk falls from my hand, soaking the pizza and my skirt as well.

It was a backpack. One of the Kendalls, very intentionally, swung her backpack at my head as she passed.

I reach back to rub my head and my fingers come away bloody. I refuse to cry, but I want to. It’s not really about the food or my skirt. It’s the way that every effort I make, from small to large, is completely useless. I’ve tried to be nice and forgiving, and it gets me nowhere. I’ve tried to be a good daughter, yet no one celebrated my birthday. I’ve tried to be a good student, and why does it even matter? I could be a terrible student or Einstein, and in the end my best-case scenario is Gulf Pines College, getting a degree I’ll never use anyway.

My father would claim my reward awaits me in heaven. But it sort of seems like everyone else is getting their reward right now.

“Jesus Christ,” says Kappy, handing me a stack of napkins. “That’s too far. Go tell your dad.”

I shake my head. Telling my father is useless. I’d just get a lecture about turning the other cheek and shining a light to brighten everyone’s path.

He’s not using my bleeding scalp to provide me with a lesson.

“You want half of mine?” asks Kappy, pushing her tray my way.