Not because he was funny.
Because no one wanted him turning on them.
I ignored him for eight days. On the ninth, our chemistry teacher asked him a question he should have known. He leaned back, confident as ever, then stalled long enough for the room to realize he didn’t have the answer.
The teacher looked at me next.
I gave the correct one without even thinking.
It wasn’t dramatic. It was barely a moment.
But I saw something dark flash across Alex’s face before he smiled again.
That was the moment I knew lunch was going to be a problem.
By the time I reached the cafeteria, the long break crowd had already thickened into the usual moving wall of students and trays. I picked up the cheapest lunch on the line—apple slices, bread, overcooked vegetables, something pretending to be chicken—and started toward an open table near the far windows.
I was halfway there when Alex stepped in front of me.
He didn’t look at me at first. That was part of his act. He angled his body just enough to block my path, then drove his elbow into my arm as if I had walked into him.
