The cafeteria was loud as usual — trays clattering, voices overlapping, the constant scrape of chairs. I dropped into my usual spot at the back table, the one no one else dared sit at unless invited.
Sam slid in beside me, but instead of immediately throwing his arm around my shoulders like he always did, he just stared at his tray and pushed the fries around with a fork.
Something was off.
I watched him for a long moment, the way his jaw was tight and his shoulders stiff. We’d been together long enough for me to read him like a book. I leaned back in my chair, legs spread, leather jacket creaking.
“Alright, spit it out,” I said finally.
“You’ve been weird since homeroom. What the f**k is wrong?”
Sam didn’t look at me. He stabbed a fry harder than necessary.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit
