I stash my books in my locker before lunch, check to make sure my knife is within easy reach in my boot, and flex my fingers inside the brass knuckles Preston had custom made to fit my hand. Then I start for the café.
When I step inside, I take a quick sweep of the room with my eyes. Baron and Duke are holding court at their usual spot to the left of the door. At the table slightly to the right, where we normally sit, Dixie and Colt are waiting. I slide into my seat, my stomach tight. Girls have been bringing our lunch all week, but I’m not hungry today, anyway.
“What’s going on?” I ask Dixie. “Something’s weird today.”
“You’ll see,” she says, just about bouncing in her seat. Her face is flushed, her eyes glowing with excitement. She’s wearing one of the jerseys I saw the girls pulling out of their lockers this morning, with the number 17 on the front. Dixie’s tied hers up at one side and combined it with a black skirt and fishnets, along with a black lace bow that’s trying to contain her unruly red curls.
“You know?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at her.
“Just wait,” she says. “Here he comes.”
I look up to see Gideon Delacroix heading our way, a plate in his hand as usual. He doesn’t buy into the whole serving girl thing. Behind him are a couple pretty girls I remember from last year, friends of Gloria’s, wearing the same jerseys as Dixie. Behind those girls is a group of half a dozen more, all wearing the number 17, Quinn among them.
I look from them, to the same number on the front of Gideon’s chest, and then to Dixie.
“What is this?” I ask, gesturing at the fucking parade of Gideon’s fangirls leaving the food line. There must be two dozen girls wearing his jersey. That might not seem like many at a school like Faulkner, but the entire student population of Willow Heights is under four hundred. That’s quarter of one entire grade at this school.
And they’re not rebel girls, either. They’re pretty girls, popular even. Girls I remember from parties last year, girls I sat in the bleachers with. A couple are even cheerleaders and majorettes. I spot the captain of the dance team among them. They all set their plates down and start pushing tables up to ours, forming a big cluster of five or six tables.
Gideon sits down across form me at his usual spot. “Here’s your army, Apple,” he says, flashing me a grin. “They’re all yours.”
“What is this?” I ask. “Some of these girls are… Dolce girls.”
“TheywereDolce girls,” he says over the racket of scooting tables and everyone else in the café gossiping as they turn to watch. “But the Dolce boys didn’t want them anymore. They said I could have them. So here they are.”
“We’re Apple girls now,” Quinn says, pulling a chain bead necklace out of the front of her jersey. I stare at the little red apple charm on it. It’s cheap, something a first grader would give a teacher, nothing like theDnecklaces the Dolce girls wear. But it makes my throat nearly close.
I turn back to Gideon, barely able to speak. “You did this?”
“Now will you go to Homecoming with me?” he asks, the smile on his face nearly breaking my heart. I wish he hadn’t done this in public, where the whole room is watching. I don’t want to hurt his pride, but leading him on is even crueler.
For a minute, I can’t answer. If I shoot him down in front of all these girls, after what he did for me, they’ll think I’m a heartless bitch. But I can’t let him think I’m interested, either.
“As friends,” I say finally.
“Friends,” he agrees, beaming at me.
I give him a hard look. “But you have this all wrong. I’m not the leader here. I didn’t do anything.”
“I think you did,” he says quietly, and I’m glad he’s keeping his voice down, too. I know this will be all over the school by the end of the day, but I’d rather it take its time getting there. “I was fucking terrified to go to this school because I heard what the boys here have to do, and I knew I couldn’t do it. You’re the one making it so I don’t have to. You started something, Harper, whether you know it or not. You didn’t just stand up for what’s right. You gave other people the courage to do it.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head as Magnolia slides into a seat next to Gideon. She’s wearing his jersey over a gold tulle skirt with black velvet polka dots, along with a pair of enormously long fake lashes with gold glitter in them. I’ve always felt this protective instinct when it comes to this girl, maybe because I sacrificed my relationship with Royal when I stood up for her and Lindsey last year or maybe because I thought I might be her cousin at one point. Or maybe it’s because in some weird way, I sensed that she was someone I could respect, despite her immaturity.
“Magnolia’s the one who gave me the courage to stand up,” I tell Gideon. “She’s the one you should be asking to the dance. She’s your age, and she’s not fucked up like me. Listen, I’ll go as your friend, if you want, and I think you’re cool as hell. But your admiration is misplaced.”
“Maggie’s great,” he says, awkwardly glancing at Colt and Dixie. “But I’ve known her all my life. And… I like older girls.”
Before I can answer, a chair scrapes back at the Dolce boys table, and the room falls from a low roar of excitement to dead silent in seconds.
“Hey,” Duke says, jerking his chin at us. “What the fuck, man?”
A look of pure dread settles over Gideon’s face as the color drains from it. I have to admire his dogged determination to win a date to Homecoming with me, even if he’s not the kind of guy I’d ever date. But I know he can’t face the Dolces on his own, which means I’m going to have to take one for the team this time.
“Gideon, bro,” Duke says, gesturing at our huge group of tables that dwarfs their exclusive two-table setup. “You can’t just steal our girls. That’s not how this works.”
“He didn’t steal anyone,” I say, pushing back my chair and standing. “These are girls who chose to sit with us afteryourejected them.”
“We didn’t reject them,” Duke says. “We passed them on when we were done. That’s how it works. Me and Baron get them first, then DeShaun and Cotton, and then Gideon and the rest of the team.”