I don’t sit at my usual spot in the cafeteria.

I’m not hungry anyway. I’m about to skip lunch and head for the library when I see Brandon sitting alone. I walk over to his table and sit across from him. “Two things,” I say.

He squints at me. “Why are you here?”

“The first. I’m not fighting with you anymore. You’ve officially won.”

“Can’t wait to see what happens when I let my guard down. I see you’re moving on to the long con.”

I ignore him. I wouldn’t believe him if he surrendered either.

“And the second is a question. Why did you write the note?”

“What note?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not a dummy. Neither are you.”

Brandon leans forward with huge eyes. “We’re done with the pranking and now a compliment. Are you trying to be my friend, Record Breaker? Okay, then. I accept.”

I close my eyes and let myself fall forward until my forehead is on the table.

“Whoa. I didn’t mean to break you.” He leans forward and whispers. “You okay, man?”

No. I’m not. If Brandon Rosten is worried about me, then obviously I am not fine at all.

“Sit up and glare at me. Then I’ll know you aren’t dying.”

I do what he asks.

“Thanks,” he says. “I feel better.”

Actually, I do too.

Brandon crunches a carrot and makes me wait while he chews and swallows. “Yeah. I wrote the note.” I glance at my normal table. Jesse’s already there—and so are all the people he blabbed to.

“Why?”

“Hey. Who are you?” a guy in a gray hoodie says. He sits down in the chair next to me.

“This is Milo,” Brandon says. “He didn’t break a record.”

The guy shrugs and says, “Okay. Neither did I. I’m Jaden.”

Desiree and a guy from my fifth-period science class, Greg, take two of the other chairs. When Benjamin—a kid who went to the same elementary school as Brandon and me—sits across from us at the table he says, “Whoa, what is happening here? Are y’all, like, friends now or something?”

Brandon throws a wadded napkin at him. “Don’t be weird, Ben.”

Benjamin throws the napkin back at Brandon.

“Anybody want this?” Brandon says, holding up a sandwich.

When nobody claims it, he tosses it in front of me. “You don’t have any lunch. Eat this.” Desiree slides over a cheese stick and Greg gives me chips.

I glance over at Jesse. He’s cracking up—probably about something Jason said.

I open the baggie and take a bite of the sandwich. I don’t even care that Brandon probably contaminated it.

“So the Ping-Pong table gets to my house next week,” Brandon says. “Who wants to be the first to lose to me.”

“Can’t,” Greg says. “I’ve got football.”

“I can,” Desiree says, “but I don’t want to.”

Brandon rolls his eyes. “What about you, Record Breaker?”

A father-son team holds the record for LONGEST TABLE TENNIS RALLY. Table tennis is just another name for Ping-Pong. Daniel and Peter Ives hit the ball back and forth for eight hours, forty minutes, and five seconds. When I was six years old, Dad bought a Ping-Pong table. He said we’d practice and break the Ives’ record. We didn’t. The longest we ever went was two hours, sixteen minutes, and eight seconds.

“Maybe,” I say.

“Okay,” he says.

“If that really happens, I’ll come too, in case y’all need a referee,” Benjamin says.

I want to tell him not to make any plans. Brandon only asked because I’m right here. It’s not like we’re friends now or anything.

Except maybe we could be. Maybe everything is different now.