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“What?’”

The second boy looked delighted as the first one laughed.

“Man, where are you from? That accent’s crazy.”

Bren had to force himself not to roll his eyes. He knew this was bound to happen, he just hadn’t expected it to be after one sentence.

“Ireland. Here on exchange.”

“Ohh,” said the first boy, realization shining in his eyes. “Hey, didn’t a guy in your brother’s class go to Ireland last year?”

“The weird gay one? Yeah.”

“What was his name? I know I’ve seen him around.”

“J.J., I think? I dunno. Something weird like that.”

“A.J.,” Bren corrected, now holding back a lot more than an eyeroll.

“Yeah! That’s his name. Weird dude,” the first guy said as he tore open a packet of crisps. “You know him?”

Bren shifted in his seat. Would it be possible to garrote the guy with his crisp packet without anyone noticing?

“Yeah, he’s my . . .” Bren stopped himself. He wasn’t sure how open Arlo was here. “My mate. He kept talkin’ about how gas Canada was so I thought I’d check it out.”

“Fuck, man, your accent’s wild!” the first guy said, like he’d only taken in the way Bren shaped his vowels.

“Say, ‘They’re after me Lucky Charms!’” said the second.

Bren was saved from having to smack him upside the head when the girl opposite kicked him under the table.

“Don’t be a dick.”

From the muffled yelp the second guy gave, there’d been some power in the kick.

“He’s in my grade and he’s really nice,” the girl said, glaring at the guy across the table like he was the biggest drain on her life possible.

“He is,” Bren agreed. “You seen him?”

“I think he usually eats down by the music room.”

“Right. And where’s that, like?”

“Brendan O’Shea?”

A lifetime of that name, followed by detentions and groundings, made Bren’s back snap straight. It was a relief when he turned around and found a classmate instead of a teacher he’d pissed off without knowing.

“Bren,” he said as he got to his feet. Best to kill the whole Brendan rot right off the bat.

The girl looked confused but smiled, or at least Bren thought that’s what she was doing. It was hard to tell because her lips were almost the exact shade of burnt orange as the rest of her face. He didn’t know the first thing about makeup, but wondered if she didn’t dip her face in a tub of bronzer and then re-draw her eyebrows every morning.

“Oh. Sure,” the girl said, her smile growing to show a set of perfectly white teeth. “I’m Morgan Clark. Senior SGA president,” she said, like Bren was expected to know what she was talking about. He didn’t, but he nodded anyway.

“Deadly.”

She beamed like they’d come to an understanding before reaching out to shake his hand. “I just wanted to officially welcome you to Peacock.”

Bren hesitated but took her hand in the end. He’d spent so much time holding Arlo’s that hers felt tiny by comparison.