So, comparatively—Jesse’s offer to drive me to school ranked low on the list of pressing news. I mean, really, it was just a ride to school. Her sister had had a baby! That had clearly been a terrible oversight on my part, though, given the evil squint she was giving me as she marched across the parking lot in my direction.

“Mina,” she said, her voice probably sounding calm and even to a casual observer, though my well-trained ears could detect the angry questions swarming just beneath the surface. Before I could make any quiet pleas for forgiveness, Jesse came up behind me, my backpack dangling from his arm.

“Oh, hey there,” he said, giving Hannah a small wave with his free hand. “I’m Jesse.”

“Of course.” She beamed at him before glancing at me, lips pursed and hands perched on her hips. “I’ve heard so much about you already.” She turned away and focused her bubbly golden energy back on Jesse. “It’s great to finally meet you. I’m Hannah, Mina’s best friend.”

Jesse looked back and forth from me to Hannah, eyebrows lifted in amusement.

“So . . . are you ready to go in, Mina?” His question was discreet—he wasn’t sure what Hannah knew or didn’t know about Arielle and the whole story coming out. But he locked his dark eyes on mine, and I could feel the full force of his concern pour over me, making me more nervous than I already was.

“It’s okay, Jesse,” I said, looking toward Hannah. “She knows everything, too, so you can say whatever you want in front of her.”

Hannah nodded at both of us, her eyes softening. “I’m here for you, Meen. We’re both here for you.”

Her anger at being left out of the Jesse loop had passed, at least for the moment.

They both stayed close as we pushed through the crowded front doors and walked along the main hallway to our lockers. We didn’t talk much as we went, too preoccupied watching and listening to everyone around us, waiting for that moment—that first accusation, that first sharp bite of reality. They both stood with me while I emptied my backpack and piled up everything I needed for the first half of the day. When I was finished, we made the rounds to both of their lockers, too, Jesse only just clicking in his combination when the first bell rang.

“You guys go,” Jesse said, yanking his locker open. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll catch up with you later this morning sometime.”

The idea of leaving Jesse behind felt wrong somehow, made me feel oddly unbalanced, but Hannah nodded and started dragging me behind her to European History.

Nothing happened anyway, not during history, not during lit or my drawing class either. Hannah was in total mother bird mode all morning, fussing and hovering so much that I almost wanted something to happen, anything that would distract her long enough to give me a second’s breath of alone time. We were in all the same classes, a feat we’d pulled off for sophomore year and junior year, too. Izzy was only in our lunch, a detail that had horribly disturbed me when we first set up our schedules last May, but now was an incredible relief.

By the time I was at the sandwich bar in the cafeteria, layering thick globs of peanut butter and jelly onto slices of whole wheat bread, the day was starting to feel like every other Monday. Hannah was complaining next to me about the mysterious clear flecks of gel on the turkey lunch meat, even though she still ate a turkey sandwich, gel and all, almost every day.

We steered our trays toward our table in the back of the cafeteria, where I saw that Jesse was already waiting for us. He had a massive forkful of the cafeteria’s crusty orange macaroni and cheese in one hand, and a small handheld camera in the other. The lens was pointed toward the tables near the trash cans, the area where he usually sat. He gave a shy smile as we settled into the seats across from him, clicking off the camera as he shoved it back into his messenger bag.

“Sorry, I just like to film random things sometimes. I need the editing practice. Anyway, I hope it’s okay that I sat here,” he said, not quite meeting my eyes. “I usually just sit by myself and read, but I don’t know, I thought—”

“Of course it’s okay, Jesse,” Hannah cut in, rescuing him. “You’re totally welcome here. Though I’m not so sure about that despicable excuse for mac and cheese. I guess you’re still learning the ropes here, so I’ll let it slide for today.”

We all laughed at that, which is why I didn’t notice at first when Kyle Bennett came up behind me, two of his absurdly square-shaped friends flanking him on either side. Kyle was our senior football quarterback and he was also, in a nauseatingly predictable high-school-movie kind of way, Arielle Fowler’s sometimes boyfriend—they were more off-again than on-again, and judging by the way she had started sitting at my old table, at Nate’s table, I was guessing they were off for the time being.

Kyle, it should be said, was also the mastermind behind the nickname Menius, which I was positive he had never once intended as a compliment. I had made the fateful mistake of telling our seventh-grade math teacher halfway through the year that Kyle had been copying my test answers all along—he was already a giant for his age and quite an expert at leaning over my desk. I’d had a crying meltdown to my mom about it after we both got the only As on a particularly brutal quiz, and she had insisted that telling Mr. Thompson was the right thing to do. Right in her adult mind, maybe, but after Kyle got a week’s detention and a seat alone next to Mr. Thompson’s desk for the rest of the year, he certainly didn’t think it was right, and neither did any of his many cool influential buddies. And so Menius had started—and spread—and Kyle had gone out of his way to torment me ever since. Until I started dating Nate, that is, and he’d finally backed off.

But now he had free reign again, and he looked alarmingly smug about it. Darren Reed stood on Kyle’s right in a skintight black T-shirt, ruffling his signature messy blond fauxhawk, and to the left was Eric Andrews, a stocky guy with a buzz cut and a grass-stained football jersey who was probably oblivious to the fact that he’d lived on my street for our entire lives. We had even played by the creek together a few times when we were little kids, though I doubted he remembered any of that now. To him, I was just the girl who told on his friend once years ago, and the girl who spent too much time studying and caring about school.

Kyle cleared his throat as soon as he caught my eye, and clapped his hands for attention. Darren yelled, “Quiet!” and the cafeteria buzz instantly dropped off. What felt like hundreds of eager eyes turned to our table.

“We have a brief but exciting presentation for everyone today,” Kyle called out, his shiny white grin blinding me as he stepped even closer. He swept his arms around the cafeteria like he was greeting old friends—like these were people he’d actually talk to or acknowledge on a daily basis, not just slam against lockers as his jock parade powered through the hallways.

Eric pulled his hands from behind his back and pulled out what looked like an old mini boom box. He put it down on the table next to ours and shot Kyle a thumbs-up.

A song started playing quietly through the speakers, and Eric turned a knob until the volume was so high that static vibrated under the music. The opening instrumental part sounded strangely familiar, and my mind raced to put a label on what I was hearing.

Classical music?

Why were they playing classical music in front of the whole cafeteria?

And then the lyrics started, and every part of my body, every last molecule, froze solid, like I had been transformed into a stone statue after looking into the eyes of some horrible mythological creature.

We three kings of Orient are