Too bad, I thought as I weaved my way out of the cafeteria to the patio outside. I could have used the company. I dropped my tray onto one of the patio’s concrete picnic tables. I used to have a spot inside, freshman year. But as my friends got kicked out of Twain one at a time, it got harder to hold on to the table, until finally I was the only one left, and I just gave up on the cafeteria altogether. The patio was usually pretty empty, but today a familiar face threw himself onto the bench across from me—Jake something-or-other. He used to sit with my crowd sometimes last year, when we made room. He reminded me of one of those little yappy dogs that think they’re bigger than they are and try to take on Rottweilers. Actually, Jake tried to take on everyone. As often as he picked fights, it was kind of a miracle he hadn’t been kicked out yet himself. Marjorie Benson sat next to him and gave me a short nod. I used to look forward to seeing Marjorie around school, but most of my old crew had seen enough of her to spoil the mystery.
