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in on the important stuff, such as who had a nose job, who cheated on who, who snorted drugs in the bathroom but denied it to everyone, and who might or might not be carrying a knife in his boot. I made a mental note to avoid the potential weapon carrier.
    The third day at lunch more girls joined us, and the entire table was full, all eight seats. They talked a bit about their classmates, but it was now old news. Everyone seemed to be more interested in something else: the new girl.
    It was uncomfortable to have all the attention on me, but a part of me kind of liked it. People were here for me. They wanted to get to know me.
    The fourth day at lunch, another table was pulled up and some boys joined us. The conversation revolved around three things: basketball; the boys’ hopes of making the varsity team; and, by association, me.
    People kept joining our table the fifth, sixth, and seventh days of school, until we were our own section in the cafeteria.
    I didn’t have time to be lonely at Beacon. My life filled up before I’d noticed the holes.
    It was weird to be surrounded by basketball again. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I’d spent the last two years avoiding the sport and the loss it reminded me of. But if basketball was the reason Beacon was so welcoming, maybe I could give it a second chance.

Chapter 6
    Brett’s first day of school was different from mine. He sat alone at a table by the frozen dessert cart. His table also had eight seats, but only one was filled. I’m sure he could’ve found people who’d let him sit with them, but he acted as if he didn’t give a crap. He sat there with his head down, a scowl on his face, and posture that would scare even the bravest person from approaching him.
    The second day of school Brett sat alone at that table, and the other seven seats remained empty. He did the same the third, fourth, and fifth days. I watched him sitting there by himself, looking angry as he paged through some recruiting catalogs from the two Marines seated at a table near the entrance of the cafeteria, the ones who tried to hand them to all of us when we walked in. Most of us shoved the papers into the garbage, but Brett studied them as if he were reading the secrets of the world or, more realistically, a porn magazine.
    I kept telling myself someone would sit next to him, but every day he was alone.
    The afternoon we started our second week at Beacon, I knocked on his bedroom door. Dad had left a Post-it on the microwave telling us,  “Don’t wait for me to eat. I may be home late.”  I figured I could get Brett to come out of his room if Dad wasn’t around.
    â€œHey.” I barged in without waiting for an invite.
    I leaned against the doorframe, not wanting to venture in and navigate the mess of clothes and magazines scattered all over the place.
    Brett sat on an old armchair he’d found in our basement. He didn’t look up, just flipped through the television stations.
    I cleared my throat. “I wanted to tell you that you can sit at my table during lunch if you want.”
    Brett didn’t answer.
    â€œEveryone is really nice. You’d have fun sitting with—”
    â€œOh, wow. How sweet of you letting me sit with  your  friends.” He ripped out a page in his magazine, crumpled it in his hand, and tossed it against the wall.
    â€œSorry. I thought since you sit alone every day . . .”
    Brett stood and headed toward me. “I don’t need your help. I’d rather eat by myself than with your new friends.” He pushed me back and slammed the door in my face. The lock clicked into place.
    Brett’s disinterest stung. I understood why he was mad at Dad for making him transfer to Beacon, but he could at least try to fit in. He acted as if he didn’t care, but I knew how important it was to find a place where you mattered. And now that I’d found my place, I wouldn’t do