Sasha tilted her head and grinned, though there was fire in her eyes. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“I can’t get a signal in here.” Robbie took his seat next to me, unbuttoning the top button of his plaid shirt. “Is it just me, or is it like ninety degrees?”
I reached for my water and took a small sip. “Yeah, it’s hot.”
“Ugh,” Sasha groaned, and I followed her gaze over my shoulder—Priya Gupta walked in, scanned the room, and visibly cringed. Saying that Priya used to be my best friend was an understatement. She’d been like a sister to me. She avoided my gaze now, casting her doe eyes to the floor as she hung her jacket and tugged down the loose sleeves of her white boho dress. When Robbie greeted her, she merely grunted in reply. Grief settled on my chest like a pile of stones, but I remained silent as Priya took her seat next to Diego. They muttered their hellos, and she busied herself examining her fingernails.
“Hi, Priya,” Sasha said in a singsong voice.
Priya’s jaw set in a rigid line. “Hi.” I smiled at her, but she wouldn’t look at me. My throat constricted. Would she ever talk to me again? Didn’t she know how much I missed her?
“Congratulations! I had no idea you qualified for a scholarship,” said Sasha. Priya was no valedictorian, but her grades were stellar.
Priya quirked her eyebrow. “Oh, you mean you cared who else would win?”
Sasha’s smile faltered. “What’s that supposed—”
I elbowed Sasha. “Leave it.” She scrunched her eyebrows at me. “You don’t want the scholarship people to hear you fighting.” Sasha nodded, and Priya made a psh noise and went back to scrutinizing her fingernails.
Diego met my gaze again, and my insides pooled into a puddle around my feet. Just then, Robbie reached for my hand under the table, and I jolted. He laughed. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” His hand was cool despite the warmth of the room, and he kissed my cheek as Diego watched. Oh, God. How was I going to get through this night?
“I’m starving,” said Priya, fishing through her purse. “Ugh, I forgot to bring a granola bar.”
Diego grabbed his backpack from the floor. “I have a candy bar somewhere in here. Want it?”
She waved him off. “No, no, it’s fine. Thanks, though.” As she eyed the ornate silver platters dotting the table, Scott Coleman—stoner extraordinaire—loped into the room. He wore his standard outfit—a black leather jacket over a black T-shirt and torn jeans, topped off with a black beanie.
Sasha gaped. “What are you doing here?”
“Same as the rest of you, methinks,” said Scott. He grinned at Priya, who offered a shy smile in return.
“No way, man.” Robbie scrunched his nose. Scott reeked of cigarette smoke. “You won a scholarship?”
Scott tugged at the collar of his leather jacket. “Seems so.”
“Bullshit,” said Robbie, and Sasha clucked her tongue.
Wow. Nobody was going to get along tonight, were they? “Guys. Be nice,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “Maybe he’s a closet genius.”
Scott winked at me. “Hey, Red. What’s shakin’?”
“Bacon.” This had been our customary greeting ever since we used to play together as kids, before we realized how little we had in common.
He nodded approvingly as he extracted a folded letter from his pocket. “I got this letter. It said to come here. So here I am.”
“But how’d you qualify?” said Sasha, smiling sweetly. “Do you have some secret talent you’ve been hiding from us?”
“Nope.” Scott shrugged and moseyed along the table. “But who the hell cares?” He plopped in the empty seat next to Priya and unwrapped a stick of gum. “Twenty kay is twenty kay. Besides, I had no plans tonight, and I like free food, so no rind off my orange.”
Sasha cringed. “That’s not an expression—”
The massive oak door behind me slammed shut with such force it reverberated through my chest, and the glasses in the china cabinets rattled. Everyone jumped, and a few people gasped.
“Wind tunnel?” I scooted my chair back and stood to open the door as thunder clapped outside.
“Oh, right.” Robbie’s shoulders relaxed. “The storm.”
As I squeezed past Sasha, she tossed her hair back and focused on Scott again. “Anyway, they don’t just arbitrarily hand out twenty thousand dollars.” Leaning on her armrest, she perched her chin on her fist, like the mere concept of Scott winning anything was utterly fascinating. “Like, Robbie has baseball, Amber’s a music prodigy, and I’m the director of the drama club. There has to be some reason you won.”
“Yeah?” Scott’s lips slapped with each chew. “Well, I’m director of the give-zero-fucks club. Maybe that counts for something.”
“Uh . . . guys?” I jiggled the doorknob. It turned in my grip, but the door wouldn’t budge. “I think the door’s stuck.”
“Seriously?” Priya glared at me, like being trapped in a room together was her version of hell.
“You’re just a little weakling.” Robbie strutted over and gave me a playful shove.
“I am not,” I muttered, returning to my seat. I fished my cell phone from my purse. No signal.
As Robbie fought with the door, I scanned the table. Diego was the only one not looking at his phone. He stared at one of the windows as lightning brightened the alley outside. Robbie cursed and gave the doorknob a final shake. “Dammit. It really is stuck.”
I rolled my eyes. “Told you.”
“Shit.” Sasha waved her phone above her head. “I have no signal.”
“Me neither,” I said.
“I haven’t had one since we got here.” Robbie took out his phone and shook it, like that would help.
“Same here,” Priya chimed in.
“Well, the mayor’s going to show up at some point, right?” asked Diego.
“Yep.” I nodded. “He’ll be able to let us out, or get help, or whatever.”
“Shouldn’t he be here by now?” Sasha checked her watch.
“He’s probably just running late,” said Diego.
Sasha eyed Robbie, who slammed his fist against the lock and jiggled the doorknob again. “But what if he had to cancel?” Her voice quavered. “What if he tried calling to let us know, but couldn’t get through? What if no one’s coming—”
“Sasha, chill out,” I said. Diego trained his eyes along the table with a frown.
“If he couldn’t get through,” said Scott, “his office would send some secretary here to tell us, right?”
“Huh, weird,” said Diego. “The table’s set for six.” Priya pointed at each place setting as she silently counted. Diego was right—there were eight chairs, but the ones on either end had no place settings, plates, or glasses laid out.
“Yeah? So?” said Scott.
Diego and I exchanged a look. “That’s bizarre,” I said. “If the mayor’s having dinner with us, why is the table only set for six?”
“Are you saying nobody’s coming to let us out?” Sasha said, an octave too high.