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“No, they’re waiting for Paparazzi to share a Babble submission she hasn’t posted yet,” Reed replied, tipping his head at me without looking over. Like he could talkabout merather thanto me. He turned to the table behind us, to Florencia and Devin. “Am I wrong?”
Florencia gave a weak chuckle, whereas Devin ducked his head.
My tolerance had reached its peak. Reed’s indifference prickled to an undeniable point. Resting my elbow on the back of my chair, I told the pair, “Reed quit the football team.”
Their reaction was instant, with wide eyes and dropped jaws all around. Because even though it was suspected, no one had confirmed it yet. Not the coach, not any player from the team, and not Babble. “We—we were wondering,” Florencia gasped, leaning forward. “You weren’t in last week’s game. Why, Reed? You were always so good at football. You were even better than Connor.”
“Flo!” Devin sounded horrified.
NowReed looked at me, and I felt a surge of triumph. I’d take the angry-eyes too. He looked a lot like Rachel had a few moments ago, but instead of shying away like I’d done with her, I found myself smiling up at him. “You only said I couldn’t post it. I didn’t.”
“It’s obvious at this point,” Rachel said, taking my side as she returned to her Physics sheet. “I don’t know why it’s that big of a secret.”
“Even if you didn’t know why, itwas.” Reed leaned down further, putting his face more at level with mine, sending my heart into cardiac arrest territory. “But then again, you have a knack for posting about people’s private lives, right?”
My jaw dropped open. “I postsubmissions—and it’s probablythemsubmitting it!” I’d found it out more than once that a few students wanted to hang their own laundry out to get people talking. Mostly Top Tier. I didn’t care one way or the other. Either way, it made for great content. “If you don’t want your life on Babble, you shouldn’t be in the Top Tier, then.”
“I have a few secrets of my own I could share, you know.”
I narrowed my eyes at the threat, even though I knew it was a bluff. He wouldn’t tell Rachel about the kiss. It wouldn’t be just me she’d stab with that pencil.
Mr. Pieffer’s landline suddenly began to ring, and I turned to see him debate on ignoring the call, in favor of theGalagagame. In the end, his ship ended up exploding, and with a grumble, he swiped up the receiver.
And then he looked in our direction. “Ava, you’re wanted in the principal’s office. Reed, is there a reason you’re standing at that desk and not working on your homework?”
“Just had a question, Mr. P,” Reed returned.
Rachel frowned at me. “What did you do?”
“No clue,” I said, gathering my things and getting to my feet. Reed took a step back, but I had to brush past him, my shoulder clipping the very edge of his.
I’d only been called to the office twice before—once in elementary school, once in high school. The time in elementary school had been a massive misunderstanding involving two boys and four handfuls of mud. The misunderstanding had come in on their end because they thought they could throw my winter hat in the mud without retaliation. I’d thrown two handfuls of mud at them—bullseyes both times—and they each threw a handful of mud back—which, with their abysmal aim, they both missed—and all three of us were prohibited from playing at recess for a week.
And the other time was last year when the IT guy asked me to help redesign the Brentwood Bobcats webpage.
“Who’s our next one?” Principal Oliphant, a tall and sleek woman, asked one of the secretaries when I walked in. “Oh. Hi. What’s your name, dear?”
“Ava Jenson.”
She gave a bright smile, one that looked effortless. “Perfect! Come into my office. We’ll chat there.”
I’d never had the pleasure of personally meeting Principal Oliphant before. She spoke at pep rallies and things like that, but I never looked closely at her before. I knew a couple things about her. She was one of Brentwood’s biggest sports fans, attending all the games to cheer on her Bobcats. Football was her preferred sport, and then cheerleading was second. I also knew that she was also the mother of Madison Oliphant, a cheerleader high up in the Top Tier.
And being a huge sports fan as well as the mother of one of the most popular girls at the high school, I also knew there were times where she turned a blind eye to questionable actions of the jocks and the Top Tier.
“Have a seat,” she said kindly, gesturing between the two chairs opposite of her large desk. There was a picture frame on it, but angled so I couldn’t see the photograph. I sat down on my hands, keeping them from trembling. “I’m not sure if word’s gotten around yet, but I’m meeting with each individual whose name appeared on the Most Likely To list this year.”
“That’s a lot of people.”
“Fifty labels, fifty students to speak to, yes,” she agreed with a nod. “As the administrator for this school, I want to check in with you, Ava. I can see how something like that might be hurtful, and I want to extend a personal invitation for you to talk about your feelings.”
Her words sounded rehearsed. I wondered how far down on her list I was, if she had time to memorize the whole spiel. “Talk about my feelings with you?”
Principal Oliphant shifted. “Well, I’d set you up to meet with our school’s counseling office.”
If I was being honest, I hadn’t realized that Brentwood had a counseling office, but I didn’t say that to her. If only I’d gotten a chance to meet with her Monday. I might never have kissed Reed. “I’m okay. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“What was your label, Ava?” she asked, glancing down at her paperwork. “I can’t find—”
