She cursed softly, but she was grinning. “You and me. This isn’t our first rodeo. You’re a pro at evading adults and pissing them off so they go away. I get it. People leave you.”

I looked away. I didn’t want to hear about my mom, my dad, my brother, even Max. Or hell, Scratch too. None of them. My throat started to feel raw, the insides were peeling away.

“Your brother called me.”

I almost jerked, but I caught myself. I held still in the chair. I showed no reaction.

“I’m only a few years older than your brother, so when I got a call from Channing Monroe, you can imagine how floored I was. My heart started pumping. My palms got sweaty. I mean, Channing Monroe.” She raised her hands in the air, pantomiming a large crowd. “Even I’m not immune to him, but what struck me wasn’t that he was calling. Parents, guardians, I get those calls all day long. They talk at me. They don’t want to hear what I have to say, not the truth.” She paused again. “But Channing Monroe, who created the Roussou crew system, called to really talk about his sister. He wasn’t calling to talk at me, but to me. There’s a difference, and I knew things must be bad if he was reaching out.”

I thought I was looking outside. I couldn’t tell. The window grew blurry.

“He told me you’re not staying at home. You’re not even going home most days. And he said he didn’t know what to do, but he was worried. He didn’t say anything about fighting, about skipping school, about swearing. I know. I know. You’re crew royalty. It’s almost expected of you, but I’m not here to bust your ass about those things. This is the beginning of year three for you and me. I want to help you, Bren. You can’t keep me away any longer. I’m not going to allow it, and I don’t want to waste your time. I have one year left to help you, so I’m breaking all the rules. Counselors aren’t supposed to lead the tone. We’re not supposed to argue with our clients, curse at them, curse with them, be sarcastic back—or fuck, be sarcastic first. I’m not supposed to corner you or make you feel attacked, but this is how you operate. Your crew is aptly named. You’re a wolf. You snarl. You bite. You fight back. That’s how you operate in life and with others. So fine. I’ll meet you where you are, but here’s one thing that’s not going to happen: You will not make me give up on you. Got it? I am not going anywhere.”

I checked the clock. That was blurry too, but I could make out that I’d been in here for thirty minutes already.

Why was everything so goddamn blurry?

“Now.” Her voice quieted. “Tell me about Race Ryerson.”

“Why?” It hurt to talk.

“Because I want to know something about you. I really want to talk about your brother. I really, really want to talk to you about Cross Shaw.”

My gaze snapped to hers.

She held up a hand. “But I know both those topics will have you walking out of this office in two seconds flat, so give me something. Anything. The new guy looks like your ex, and he’s related to your ex. You must have some feeling about that.”

My nostrils flared. “Are you serious?”

“Yes and no.” She held her hands toward me a moment before letting them fall back on her lap. “Tell me about him. And if not him, tell me something. I need to know something, anything, about your life.”

Wha—my head was spinning. I heard her imploring tone. It sounded genuine, but this was a waste of time. I would either graduate or not. If I didn’t, I’d figure it out. My brother had.

When the bell rang, I stood up. “First period’s done.”

“GODDAMN!”

The last class had let out for the day, and I could see Zellman and Jordan at their lockers through the crowd of students in the hall. I hadn’t really talked to any of my crew during the day, not more than a few words in class or between classes. At lunch I sat with Taz outside at a table. I didn’t know where Cross had been. He slipped in late to two of the classes I had with him, and he slept through the third.

Zellman grabbed his bag and stuffed it back into the locker. He slammed the door, then kicked it.

“Stay closed, motherfucker!”

Jordan laughed.

“You told that inanimate object,” I said as I approached. “It knows who’s boss now.”

“Second day of school, and already I got too much shit in my locker.” Zellman nodded at me, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Hey.” Jordan lifted his chin in greeting, leaning against his neighbor’s locker. “Heard you got sent to the counselor’s office this morning. How was that?”

I shrugged. “How it always is. A waste of time. I feel like I’m finally back to school now.”

Zellman grinned at me. Then his locker popped open again.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD!” He slammed it shut and began beating on it. “STAY.” Kick. “SHUT.” Punch. “YOU.” A second punch. “MOTHER.” His elbow, a heel kick added. “FUCKER!” He braced himself on both sides of his locker and bent over.

I moved forward. Jordan straightened, and we both began to reach for him.

I thought he’d go for the head butt, but after a moment he seemed to think better of it. He used his fists like he was doing a boxing speed drill.

“Fucking locker!” He gave it one last kick.

It sprang open again, clipping his foot in the process.

“AHHH!”

“Mr. Greenley!”

The students in the hallway parted, and Principal Neeon strode forward. How we’d missed him coming, I had no idea. He stopped right in front of us, folding his arms over his chest. The movement lifted his suit jacket. I was impressed he was still wearing his tie.

“You are damaging school property. You need to stop.” He spoke clearly, as if we were children. He turned to me. “And Miss Monroe. Why do I have a feeling we’re off to a very bad start for the year?”

“You didn’t have to take me to The Badger.”

“It was either her office or mine. Did I get it wrong?”

Zellman cut in, pointing to his locker. “It won’t close, Mr. N.”

“It’s Neeon, not N. And it’s because you have too much stuff inside.”

“It’s my locker. I have my necessities in there.”

“Well, some of your necessities need to be moved elsewhere.”

Zellman glowered, grumbling, “That doesn’t help.” His head popped up. “Can I have another locker? There’s gotta be an empty spare somewhere.”

“No.”

“Come on, Mr. N—eeon. Mr. Neeon.”

“What’s going on?”

I looked over my shoulder. Cross had appeared, his hair a little messed.

I gestured to Zellman’s locker. “It won’t close. Z’s trying to commit murder on it, and Mr. N’s not having it.”

“I am not Mr. N.” He straightened to his full six-feet and three inches and looked down his nose at us, literally. Except Jordan. “It is Neeon. You will call me either Mr. Neeon, or Principal Neeon, or just principal. You got that, Miss Monroe?” He included Zellman in his withering look.

I shrugged. “How about Mr. P? P for principal?” I read the big NO coming and amended it. “Prince? That’s not a bad name. You like the color purple, Mr. N?”

“I went over your name choices—”

Race spoke up as he joined the group. “I’d take Prince, because if you don’t jump on it, they’ll shorten it to Prick.”

Principal Neeon opened his mouth, but just let out a large gust of air. “Fine. I’ll go with Mr. N.” He pointed to Zellman. “Stop beating on your locker.” He turned to me. “And you, stop skipping classes. You have one year left. I’d like you to graduate.”

Zellman smiled, lighting up his face. “You don’t have to worry about Bren. Don’t you know by now, Mr. N? She’s brilliant. She got Bs last year and skipped almost all of her classes.”

“Zellman!”

Jordan let out a frustrated sigh, smacking the back of Zellman’s head with his palm. Mr. Neeon looked at me, but he looked back at Zellman when he heard him yelp. By then he only saw Zellman rubbing the back of his head and Jordan yawning, scratching the back of his neck.