No more than a day passes before Haley walks up to me at lunch—again. The entire cafeteria follows his path from the rich-kids table to the one-of-the-poorest-fucking-kids-in-Larkwood-and-the-social-outcast-by-choice table, and it feels like I'm watching him through a screen. I think we all feel it.

Some genius director chose Larkwood, Philleanna as the setting of his next coming-of-age movie and dropped Haley Sinclair, award-winning actor, into this school and said, "Make me proud." Here he comes, dressed in brand-new clothes and dark hair combed back, not a strand out of place, and we're all just set pieces. A song with heavy guitars is playing, introducing this untouchable character. This is the inciting event.

I am the inciting event.

When he slides into the seat beside mine, it abruptly stops being a fantasy. The chair squeaks unpleasantly as he drags it across the floor, protesting against being used after months of abandonment. A strand of hair falls down. He lifts a hand and tucks it back with the rest.

"Hey," he says, smiling. "Did you know there's a special screening at the movie theater this Sunday? Both of the Moonshiner movies. And a special surprise, whatever that means. Do you wanna go?"

I can't help but laugh. "Make an entrance, will you?"

"What?"

I know he's playing dumb, so I wait.

Eventually, he rolls his eyes and says, "I've got it under control."

"Hm. If you say so."

"Do you wanna go to the movies or not?"

"Sure."

I wonder what he told his friends that has him convinced he's got it "under control."

Twisting in my seat, I look at Sam and Davy, whom I continue to misidentify as long as they're next to each other, though one is scowling more than the other, so I guess that one must be Sam. (Has George broken up with him yet?) I look at Daniel, who seems quite neutral, but he always seems quite neutral. I look at Nichola and the two girls next to her, and some other guy whose name I don't know. I look at the table next to theirs, where the rest of the rich kids—the somewhat less but still absurdly rich kids—sit. They're all staring, unsurprisingly, but none of them are coming over.

"Oh, hey, Margie," Haley says, making me turn around again.

I gotta say, the surprise on Margie's face is pretty satisfying. She was so convinced Haley and I would never be friends, and now she's sitting there, looking between the two of us, holy earbuds forgotten on the table. After about five seconds of silence, she narrows her eyes and says, "Are you two dating?"

I sputter.

Haley lets out a laugh so harsh, I think I should be offended.

"No, seriously," Margie asserts. "He just asked you out on a date."

I turn to Haley with a shocked face. "Did you?"

He shrugs, a grin slipping onto his face.

"Wow, I can't believe it," I say. "After I told you I'm straight."

"Heterosexuality is a social construct."

"Oh my god, you're right. How did I never realize?"

"I can't believe it took you so long, man."

"Well, have fun," Margie mutters. She raises a brow at me and adds, "As far as that is possible. There's not much to work with—in case you haven't heard."

"You didn't seem to mind," Haley says, so casually I almost miss the meaning.

My mouth sputters again. "Really? Her?"

"Only once," Margie says, teeth gritted. "And it was a mistake."

"One that I promise I'll never make again," Haley says brightly.

She looks like she's about to throw a knife at him, or strangle him with her earbuds, maybe. Another moment passes. Then she changes her mind and blocks the world out again. I'm surprised she doesn't get up and leave. I guess this is still her table.

I wait until she's fully immersed in her music before I turn my attention toward Haley. "So what did you say to your friends?"

"I told them I'm throwing a party next week." He smiles a smug smile. "And anyone who tries to fuck with my friends is not invited because they're no longer my friend."

"Wow."

"Come on."

"No, really. Wow. A party?"

"Believe me, it'll work," he says with unshakable confidence. "It's about subtext. It's about public denouncements and ostracism and all that shit."

I shake my head.

"Also, you're invited."

☽〇☾

I'm not a bear today. I'm not a snail. I'm not even an elephant in a room. I'm a creature that hasn't been named yet, that will not be approached, will not be eaten or touched, because nobody knows what the fuck to do with me. I don't blame them. How can someone be two things at once? The lowest and the highest. Neither. Both. An enigma. I'd like to say I'm being dramatic, but seriously. I thought the staring was bad before I became friends with Haley.

Four times now (I've been counting) someone has walked up to me, with the intention of asking me about our budding friendship, only to turn around and walk away.

This time, it's Sam/Davy Harding. The only difference is that he doesn't turn around and walk away, because he's in my pre-uni English class. He takes the seat next to me and leans over, menacing and smelling of disdain. I want to ask him how he liked the movies Haley and I recommended, but I don't know which twin I'm talking to, and then Mr. Rowley walks in and starts his class. When one of the rich kids gives Davy/Sam a what-the-fuck look, he considers getting up in the middle of Mr. Rowley's introduction, visibly twitching in hesitation, but ultimately decides against it. Halfway through the class, he slides a note in front of me.

"what's the deal?" it says.

I let it sit there on my desk until the end of class, because I have no idea.

What's the deal with what? With me, or with Haley? Maybe he thinks our relationship actually is some type of deal? Although, I'm not sure what he thinks I could possibly give anyone. He must know it'd be far from beneficial for Haley. Or maybe Davy/Sam jumped to the same conclusion Margie jumped to. Granted, Haley and I dating is not much more likely than us being friends. If Haley wanted to get with someone, there are lots of options that wouldn't make everyone lose their shit. It just doesn't make sense for him to look for a random lower-class student to fulfill that role.

In the end, I write, "we're just friends."

I personally think it answers all the questions Sam/Davy might be asking, but when the bell rings, he crumples the paper and throws it at me. It bounces off my chest and falls to the floor. "Bullshit," he says.

I shrug.

"Why would he want to be friends with you?"

"Hold on. Before we do this, can I just—are you Davy or Sam?"

"Davy," he spits.

"Look, Davy, I didn't understand why he wanted to be friends, either. And I told him we should just keep our friendship on the down low, but he's made up his mind. You know it's not a joke. Sam must have told you what happened last night."

"He told me the Sinclairs chose you over him. I don't know what you did to make them do that, but I'm not going to let you—"

"I didn't do anything."

"Don't interrupt me," he says through gritted teeth.

Normally, I would shut up right about now, you know, let him seethe for a bit, pretend to listen, but Haley's right: social conventions may be fucked, but it's not illegal for us to be friends; Davy's got no business telling me what to do. Before he can go on a tirade, I hold up a hand and say, "I figured I'd keep you from wasting your breath. If you want to know why Haley wants me to be his friend, why don't you ask him? Have you considered doing that yet?"

His silence says enough.

"Alright, Davy, have a nice day." I bend down to pick up the crumpled note and leave the classroom. He doesn't come after me.

☽〇☾

About ten blocks away from Kurt's house, there's a tiny corner store that belongs to an even tinier woman named Stacie. Convenience Bird has been around for about thirty-five years, always owned by the same person, and has thus been affectionately dubbed Stacie's.

Stacie is the sweetest person I've ever met. She is also my boss.

Throughout the years, while living in St. Richard, I've had a few jobs that paid decently, but my schedule was always so rigid that I had to plan every day of every week to make sure I was getting my schoolwork done. Sometimes my teachers made things worse by failing to notify me on time; I've pulled many all-nighters to make up for lost time. It didn't help that I was required to go strolling around the woods every week, either. Foolishly, I tried to squeeze a moment in whenever I could, but I got irritated from having to put my alone time off, and putting it off only made it harder to plan: any and every intense emotion triggered my instinct to run for the trees. My grades started dropping. I was always tired, always in a bad mood, always worrying about things out of my control. Mom tried to convince me she would be fine without my help, which we both knew wasn't true. I couldn't quit my job, but something had to change. So I started asking if I could take Fridays off.

It didn't go well.

My boss at the time continued to schedule me in whenever he wanted because he "hired me as someone who can work every weekday" and forced me to quit. At every other job interview following this incident, I had to explain I was not just avoiding the busiest shift or keeping Friday nights open so I could hang out with friends. It's just the day I have training. A club meeting. A religious service. I'm not proud of lying, especially about my religion, but "I just need to drive into the woods so I can be by myself and not think about school, or work, or fucking people for a goddamn minute" is not a good excuse, so I guess I'm religious now.

I lucked out with Stacie.

Her son, who used to help her out in the store, moved out of Larkwood just before I arrived. For some reason, she thought she didn't need a replacement, but Kurt convinced her she needed me to help her with the heavy lifting, so here I am. All I have to do is let her know when I'm available and show up, which means I try to work as often as I can. Every day, I go to school, go back home to have an early dinner and change, then work with Stacie until closing time. Even on Fridays, I stay with her until ten since it only takes me fifteen minutes to walk to the woods, and Saturdays and Sundays are for sleeping in and doing schoolwork. Only when I have an important test coming up, I take a few days off.

Haley has thrown a bit of a wrench into that routine.

All evening, I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. It doesn't take a genius to figure out who's texting me. Stacie may be generous, but I don't think she would appreciate me being on my phone when I'm supposed to be working, so I wait until my break before I pull it out.

💰💰💰💰💰

ok i know you have work rn but i just saw something i think you should have and i need to know if i'm like overstepping some type of boundary if i just get it for you

guuuuussssss

ugh don't tell me you're not allowed to use your phone

pls

i'm too impatient for this man

ok i got it

if you don't like it i can return it

idk why you wouldn't like it tho

actually if you don't like i'll just take it for myself

what did you get

💰💰💰💰💰

it's a surprise :)

how can i tell you if i like it if i don't know what it is lol

💰💰💰💰💰

well it'll be delivered to your house tomorrow

Do I feel like he's overstepping boundaries? I don't know. I guess it depends on what he got me. It would be foolish of me to complain about him getting me something I want, or need, but I don't know what to expect. What would Haley consider something I need that I don't already have?

ok i guess you're safe until then

When I walk back into the store, there's a familiar face by the counter. I freeze on the spot. Stacie's Convenience Bird is not often visited by anyone from the rich side of town, and yet I seem to be looking at George Sinclair. Her long hair is up in a bun, and her face looks bare, but she still looks intimidatingly pretty in her a knee-length coat and shiny heels.

Stacie scans George's items—a bar of chocolate and a bag of chips—with her usual customer-friendly smile. George barely looks at her as she drops a bill on the counter.

"Keep the change," she says.

Stacie puts it in the tip jar.

George takes the snacks and turns to leave, but then she notices me by the door to the break room. There's a long, or short depending on who you ask, moment where we just stare at each other from across the store. Somehow, she doesn't look surprised to see me. Her eyes flicker to the exit.

"Stacie?" I call out.

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna step outside for a second."

"Alright, hun."

When George and I are outside, I say, "You knew I'd be here."

"Haley told me."

I nod.

She doesn't offer anything else.

"Did you . . . want something?"

"I don't know. Maybe." She blows up her cheeks and looks away, before letting out a deep sigh. "I guess I'm just wondering what happened between you and Sam."

"Oh."

"Was he always like this? I mean, since you got here, anyway?"

"No, but . . . I guess he didn't really have a reason to talk to me until now."

"Haley warned me about him, you know? Well, I don't know if 'warn' is the right word." She smiles thinly. "He said I could do better than the Harding twins. Which is kind of a funny thing for him to say."

"What do you mean?"

She looks at me for a moment, then asks, "You guys are friends, right?"

"We—I mean . . ." I frown. "Are you saying we're not?"

"Just making sure."

"Why?"

"I'll let him answer that question for you. Anyway, thank you."

"Uh . . . I'm not sure how much I helped, but you're welcome," I say, watching her open the bag of chips. I'm not one to judge the purchases people make at convenience stores—I've gone to places in the middle of the night to get whatever will satisfy my greedy stomach—but I know comfort food when I see it. "Are you okay?"

She shrugs.

"Sorry."

"It's fine. I'll be fine. You just worry about Haley."

"Do I need to worry?"

She tilts her head, the same way her mother did, then puts a chip in her mouth and chews until it's gone. I wonder if she knows Haley is a shapeshifter, if she knows what he goes through and how powerless he is to stop it, or if this is about something else.

"I don't know," she says.

"Okay. I'll worry if need be."

She smiles. "Have a good night, Gus."

"You too."

☽〇☾