Chapter 2

You'd think I'd be hugely unpopular. Maybe eat my lunch in the bathroom, wear thick black eyeliner, that sort of thing. It would've made a lot more sense, but I'd defaulted into the popular group in the third grade. My two best friends had climbed the social ranks freshman year as if it was a race up Mount Everest, and there I was, standing around in the wind as though they owed me something.

I wasn't sure who decided who could sit at the popular lunch table, but somehow everyone always knew. I sat in the same seat every day, squished between one person I liked, two I tolerated, and a slew of those I essentially hated. The seats closest to me were important real estate, so I almost cursed out loud when Suzanne Brodie and two of her friends arrived first.

Suzanne fixed her gaze on me, and I waited. Despite my seniority, some people were not as accepting of my status, especially people like Suzanne who had to work hard to maintain theirs.

"Been to the movies lately, Alice?"

I picked at my sandwich, eying her. "Sure." Suzanne was predictable, and I could be sure whatever came next wasn't going to be a conversation about the box office.

"Well, we went on Saturday, and as we were leaving, we could've sworn we saw you." Her two friends leaned in, grinning in anticipation as we all awaited the punchline. "Turns out, it was only Homeless Ted. I swear, you two look so alike." She glanced at my sweatshirt with distaste, then pressed her hand to her mouth, pretending to stifle her giggles.

"Oh, shut up, Suzanne," Margo said, Casey close behind her. She tossed her purse on the table with a loud smack. "And move over."

Suzanne and her two friends slid over in silence, and Margo and Casey dropped into the now unoccupied seats across from me. Margo paused to offer her own silent assessment of my outfit, and when Suzanne and her friends were no longer listening, she raised her eyebrows in my direction. "You bring it on yourself, you know."

Margo, Casey, and I used to be inseparable, but that was before. In middle school, I told them what a hand job was, and I laughed along when we called Suzanne Brodie a slut because she'd kissed Adam Willard on the back of the bus. The football team had tormented her for a month straight. But the real kicker? There hadn't even been any tongue. Maybe I was getting what I deserved. Suzanne didn't hold a grudge against Margo and Casey because that would have been social suicide. But I was harmless and defenseless, which was a horrible combination in high school.

People used to say I was the prettiest one, but not anymore. You might think the baggy-clothes-and-greasy-hair jabs would have bothered me, but they didn't. It wasn't some kind of statement, and it might come as a surprise, but I did have a specific strategy. I was just trying to look as plain and unmemorable as possible while I faded into the background. I'd have liked to be the quiet girl you sat next to the entire school year who stopped showing up. And after two days, you couldn't even recall what color hair she had. You only remembered that she was there and then she wasn't. Hell, maybe she was never there in the first place.

Margo removed the tomato from her chicken salad sandwich and discarded it onto a napkin as if it had done something to offend her. "Did you hear what happened this weekend?" Her gaze snapped to mine, studying my reaction.

"If I haven't heard it from you and I haven't heard it from Casey, you can probably assume I haven't heard it."

Margo's and Casey's weekends were always booked from the end of school on Friday to the start of school on Monday, and though they still invited me to their parties and elite hangouts, I always had somewhere else I needed to be. By now, they had to assume my mom had me on lockdown, I exclusively hung out with my older brother, and it was always bingo at my grandma's assisted living facility. In reality, my mom begged me to be more social, Chris whined I was giving him secondhand depression, and bingo was only on Thursdays.

"Margo totally made out with Scott Henderson," Casey burst out. Her big blue eyes brimmed with excitement. "Serena was there, and she totally hates Margo's guts, but we were all in the hot tub, and we were playing this game ... well, it's not important, but you have to pick someone to kiss, and he totally picked Margo. It was so romantic!"

I couldn't drag my gaping stare from Margo. "You made out with him on purpose?"

Her face flushed with irritation. "Yes, on purpose, you bitch."

Casey's eyebrows drew together as she wrapped an arm around Margo's shoulders. "Don't listen to her. He's a god among boys."

"He's the antichrist among boys," I corrected, but either they didn't hear me or pretended they didn't.

Suzanne leaned one elbow across the table and wormed her way into the conversation like usual. "I would have died if I were you, Margo."

Margo shot her a smug smile while I continued my eye-roll routine. If possible, Suzanne's eyes grew even wider when the devil in question sidled up to our end of the table and put his hand on the back of Margo's neck as though she was a helpless lion cub dangling from his grasp. He flashed us a flirtatious smile. "Ladies."

Scott redirected his heated gaze toward me. "How's the knee, Matthews?" A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and I could feel the temperature of my face climb fifty degrees by the second.

"Fine." I looked away, trying to ignore the dozens of eyes on me.

Margo twisted around to stare at Scott. "Why? What's wrong with Alice's knee?"

He chuckled. "She was just a little clumsy in gym today, that's all." The other girls giggled along as if he'd told some hilarious joke. "Isn't that right, Alice?" he asked, his voice like dangerous velvet.

Figuring it would be another good time to take a nice long bathroom break, I shot to my feet and mumbled an incoherent excuse. I did my best to ignore his soft laughter as I scurried away.

As I fled the cafeteria, I locked eyes with the guy from gym class with the black Vans. He sat by himself in the far corner of the lunchroom, staring at me the same way he'd stared at me in gym. I knew how it felt to attract desirable stares, but his was different. He didn't even bother to look away when I caught him. In fact, his gaze became even more intense. His behavior was bizarre, sure, but I couldn't put my finger on what unsettled me so much about it until I'd fled the cafeteria altogether.

He hadn't just been watching me; he'd been studying me. And I had the uneasy feeling that maybe he'd find answers if he looked hard enough.

* * *

I was leaningagainst Margo's locker at the end of the day when she initiated the conversation I knew was coming. "So I didn't realize you and Scott ... talk."

I didn't miss the way her eyes dug into me. "We don't."

"Hmmm."

I gritted my teeth. "That three-second conversation we had in lunch today was enough to last me a lifetime."

She rolled her eyes so far to the back of her head I might have thought she was having a seizure if I didn't know her so well. "What? You think you're too good for him?"

Scott was the most popular guy in school. He'd slept with half the female body and was hailed by the entire town for his outstanding performances in football and lacrosse. He was your typical jock, sent straight from a blockbuster movie—average height, athletic build, blond buzz cut, deep blue eyes that were always mocking. It wasn't just the handsome face either. It was his confidence, the sense of entitlement. I mean, the guy felt as though he had some unspoken permission to touch my ass. I guess girls went for that, but all popularity aside, Scott Henderson was the exact type that should have raised every girl's red flags.

"He's not my type," I told Margo. But that was a lie. Scott Henderson was the only type I'd ever had.

She paused from searching through her purse to give me an exasperated stare. "You have to date people to have a type."

I shifted against the locker. "I've dated people."

She snickered, and I knew she must be over whatever confusion she'd felt. "Your middle school relationships don't count."

"Whatever," I mumbled.

She pulled out a tube of lipstick in victory and flipped open her small locker mirror. I watched her apply it with perfect precision, and when her eyes met mine, I said what I'd meant to say from the beginning. "I think you're too good for him."

I thought it was a nice sentiment, one I hoped she'd take to heart, but she rolled her eyes, refocusing on her task at hand.

I scanned the busy hallway in disinterest, and my eyes caught on dark hair peeking out from behind an opened locker about halfway down the hall. My heart dipped into my stomach, as if I'd missed a step, as I connected the hair—to the person—to the scowling guy in my gym class.

Jolting interest pulsed through me, and I pushed onto my tiptoes to get a better look. Being on the watching end felt dangerous and forbidden, similar to the questions storming under my surface, and I nudged Margo like some kind of lunatic before I could stop myself.

"Hey, what's that guy's name ... the one with the black hair?"

With his back to me, it was the first time I'd been able to inspect him without his intrusive gaze returning the favor. He was tall and lanky, but despite his lean frame, he looked strong and intimidating. His back was hunched over as he removed things from his locker, and I could see the distinct vinelike outline of muscles beneath his T-shirt. His long, slender fingers moved to the top shelf, riffling through a stack of books before he settled on nothing and closed his backpack.

His style was standoffish, but not because he bought overpriced band T-shirts or leather jackets at some angsty store in the mall. He wore black jeans that looked as though they were his only pair, and his plain white T-shirt was probably from a Walmart variety pack. His dark hair was disheveled, and though it wasn't overgrown, I assumed he didn't get regular haircuts or even own a comb.

Margo followed my gaze, and I cringed at my obviousness.

When her eyes flitted back to me, she stared at me for several seconds. I tried not to cower as she studied the lines of my face as though searching for a trace of humor. "What planet do you live on?"

I wasn't able to produce a decent answer, and she continued without one, giving him one more sweeping glance. "That's Hunter Thomas. He's a total psycho. Beautiful, yes, but still a psycho."

My eyes widened, and she prowled on, misreading my expression altogether. "Yeah, he's the one who went batshit crazy two years ago and tried to kill himself. He was out of school for six months because he was in a mental institution. An actual one. Like in the movies, where all the crazies are drooling on themselves. I mean, look at him; he looks like a total psycho."

I shifted. "Oh ..."

Hunter slammed his locker and spun around. His eyes landed on us without warning. The same intense deep green eyes that had pinned me before. It was as if he knew we were talking about him. I heard Margo's sharp intake of breath as she stiffened beside me. His eyes floated over Margo before landing on me, and his expression transitioned from bored to irritated within one blinking moment. He held my gaze for one more second before he turned on his heel and stalked down the hall.

"Eugh. He's so freaky. It's like he doesn't blink or something," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper as if he could somehow hear us.

I watched him slink away, disappearing into a sea of students, before I remembered what I'd intended to say before he turned around. "I know him."

Margo laughed. "Duh. So does everyone." She shook her head as she turned back to her locker. "That's Scott Henderson's stepbrother."