"Yo, deadass? They found blood in the locker room again."
Willow dropped it across the table like ketchup. Loud enough for half of Juniper Burgers to catch, quiet enough to act like she didn't mean it. Fryer screaming in the back, soda machine spitting foam, grease clinging to the air. The OPEN sign blinked like it owed rent. Outside was brick, so half the kids ate in coats, steam still rising.
"Smelled like pennies," Willow added, wrinkling her nose. "Coach locked it down. Trainers moving sus."
"Great," I said. "Just what the hallway needed. More stains."
She grinned over her straw. Willow's lashes could slice someone up. Purse was a knockoff, seams frayed, but she made it look lethal.
The bell coughed and the twins walked in like they owned zoning rights. Braylin first—loud laugh, big hair, jacket worth a rent check. Bri followed softer, sharper, with that calm that made people lean in. Together they bent the room. Their dad ran the district, and it showed.
"Don't look," Willow hissed, then looked. "Braylin's mood OD today."
"Her mood's always OD." Still, I glanced. Bri's gaze clipped mine for a half-second. Hit sharp. Then she looked past me like I wasn't there. That's our thing—see each other, pretend we didn't.
At the counter, Mateo argued with the cashier about a coupon. Hoodie stretched across athlete shoulders. Card declined twice. He laughed, made it a joke, tipped when it finally cleared. Broke but polite about it.
Isy slid into our booth without asking, hood up. "Locker room?"
"Second stall by the showers," Willow said like she had a press badge. "Towels everywhere. My girl said it looked like a horror flick."
"A bad one," I said.
"Obviously." Willow snorted. "This school not HBO. We Tubi."
I bit my burger. Grease hit tongue, pure regret. Phone buzzed: Board dinner tonight. Wear navy. Then: Be discreet. Dean on edge. I flipped it face-down.
Willow clocked the twitch. "Parents texting like ops again?"
"Spam."
"Right." She smirked. In this city, we lie out of courtesy.
Braylin breezed past with a tray, ignoring me until the last second. Then she spun, smile sharp. "Burger Girl. Library kick you out for chewing too loud?"
"Crazy," I said. "I was about to ask if your mouth had a volume control or if that's extra."
Willow choked on soda. Isy smirked.
Braylin laughed once, cut glass. She scanned me head to toe—my thrift coat, my steady face—and filed me under Forgettable. Mistake.
Bri lingered behind, eyes on me longer than safe. Lips twitched like she almost said something. Then Braylin yanked her forward.
At the next booth, some boy blurted too loud: "They said somebody swung on Coach. Blood might be his."
"Cap," his friend said. "Coach don't bleed."
"Everybody bleeds," Willow said, voice low. Too low.
The diner buzzed louder, rumors multiplying midair—fight, accident, warning. Lies spinning on repeat.
I dropped my fries. Appetite gone.
"Shit," Isy muttered. "If it's Coach, this school's cooked."