Cade reaches across our lunch table and snatches a handful of fries off my plate. I scowl at him, then go back to glaring at the small pack of whispering, wide-eyed freshmen staring at us. I so want to walk over there and sit down at their table. Wouldn’t that freak them out? From the corner of my eye, I catch Cade going for my burger. This time I whisk it away before his greedy fingers can get it.

“Switch places with me,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because you always sit there and it’s good to change things up.” He walks around our table, nudges me with his knee. I refuse to budge, but then he takes my hand and tugs. “Come on.”

“But I like sitting here.” He bends down like he’s going to pick me up and toss me over his shoulder. As amusing as that would be, I would prefer not to attract any more attention.

“Fine,” I say, switching spots, but only because Cade refused to move until I got up. I stare at the cafeteria’s baby-blue walls and a ridiculous poster with super-expensive luxury cars. The caption says, “Hard work pays off.” I can think of ten reasons why it’s absurd, but welcome to RHS. “Tired of this view, huh?” I point to the poster.

He shakes his head. “Logan. We should talk about this.” His eyes dart over my shoulder and I know exactly what he’s referring to. His leg brushes against mine. “Do you want to get out of here?”

I pick up a fry, but I have no appetite. Pushing my tray aside, I sigh. “I don’t know…I thought today would be hard, especially after the crap people said about us on social media. But this?” I tilt my head, motioning to the audience behind me.

“I know.” Cade’s eyes remain on me, and it finally clicks why he wanted to switch places. He’s much better at ingoring the unwanted attention. I really do have the best friend in the world. He smiles, but it’s sad. “I’m not sure this is what my grandpa meant by being in the spot—”

I jerk. Something hit me in the back of my neck. I spin in my seat, look around, down. A paper airplane lies belly-up next to my chair. I grab it and set it on the table. Swastikas decorate the wings. Someone snickers.

I stand and scan the tables across from us. Any one of the dozens of people could have made this. I call out, “See my face? This is me laughing.” I glare at anyone who dares to look at us. “Coward,” I yell.

Cade unfolds the wings and smooths them out. That’s when Mrs. Ingram, my AP Lit and Composition teacher, walks over.

“I’ll take that,” she says, reaching for the flattened airplane. “Do you know who made it?”

Cade snatches it away from Mrs. Ingram and hops onto his seat. He holds the swastikas high over his head for everyone to see, putting as much wrath into his expression as he can.

The room grows quiet. I slide my chair around Mrs. Ingram, and join Cade. Stretching my arm, I grasp the other edge of the paper. Every time my eyes meet someone else’s, that person looks away.

Silence morphs to whispers, but no one laughs or taunts us like they did at our lockers before school. This is what I believe Cade’s grandpa meant by being in the spotlight. Cade slips the paper from my fingers and slowly and deliberately tears it to pieces. He crushes them in his fist, hops down, and strolls over to the garbage. When he returns, I push my seat back into place and sit.

Mrs. Ingram hasn’t moved. She removes two locks from her pants pocket. “I was in the office, and Miss Wather asked me to bring you these. Your new combinations are taped on the back. Just so you know, I checked. Only Miss Wather and Principal McNeil are able to access the file with everyone’s combinations. They have their own logins. Miss Wather looked. The last time the master list was opened was the third week of school.”

So maybe it wasn’t Kerrianne? I think. But then who? How?

Heather walks over, book in one hand, her tray in another. Her blue hair cascades over her shoulders like a waterfall. “Can I sit with you?” she asks, loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear.

I pull out the chair next to me, and motion for her to join us. “Of course.”

“Thanks.” Her tray bobbles, and I reach up and take it from her. For several beats, she doesn’t move, so I turn to see what she’s staring at. Jesse. Though he’s at a table filled with hockey players, including Mason, he has this odd expression on his face that gives me the impression that he’s oblivious to everyone around him. At that moment, there seems to be only Heather in his world until Reg nudges his shoulder, breaking the spell. Heather sets her book down and joins us.

“I’d rather sit with you any day,” she says without elaborating. I don’t need specifics. I’m glad she’s here.

And then Daniel comes over. “Is it okay?” He motions to the empty chair.

Cade smiles. “Heck yeah.”

Mrs. Ingram straightens her yellow scarf, leans down. The four of us look at her. She whispers, “You should know quite a few teachers support you. A couple of us went to Principal McNeil. Unfortunately, we walk a fine line, but I felt it was important for you to hear.” Her eyes dart around the room, then back to us. “If there’s anything I can do, come and see me and we can talk about it, okay?”

“We appreciate it, Mrs. Ingram.” Cade picks up a fry, drags it through his ketchup, drawing a line down the middle. Then he wipes it out with his finger. He turns his defiant gaze on her. “We know about lines. You may walk a fine one, but we don’t.”