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…
    Tegan.
    She sat behind a table, underneath a banner that said N ADIA V ETTER M EMORIAL F OOD D RIVE .
    “Is that for your Nadia?” Malachi asked.
    I rolled my eyes. “Yes, indeed. I have no idea what she’s up to.”
    I set down my backpack at a table and slid into a chair, watching Tegan accept cans of food and cash donations from the rest of the student body. Her short brown hair was stylishly messy around her pixie-like features, and her attire carefully treaded the line between painfully fashionable and outrageously slutty. She had this holier-than-thou look on her face, and I had to turn away because it was pissing me off.
    “Are you going to eat that or merely crush it to dust?” Amusement laced Malachi’s voice as he sat down in the chair next to mine.
    I looked down at my now manhandled granola bar. “This is how I like them.”
    At that exact moment, Tegan spotted us. She waved me over, first happily, and then frantically when I didn’t move fast enough for her.
    “If I want to avoid drama, I should at least go say hi. She’s trying to be nice.”
    Malachi stared at her with curiosity. “Do you want me to go with you?”
    This was our fifth day of school together, but we’d spent morning and lunch times discussing everything from the finer points of knife wielding to the art of sending a text message, leaving us little time for socializing. Which was fine with me. Especially as I took in the hungry expressions on the faces of the cheerleaders, all eyeing Malachi like they were hoping to have him for dinner.
    “Um … maybe let me handle this one alone.” I got up from my chair. “I won’t be gone long.”
    Tegan came out from behind her table to greet me. “I left a message for you last night. You didn’t call back.”
    Ah, the smell of entitlement in the morning. “I haven’t checked my messages. I was kind of busy.”
    Tegan’s eyes lasered past me and zeroed in on Malachi, who was perusing his history textbook in a way that told me he was completely aware of his environment and ready for anything. She made a suggestive noise that made my fists clench. “I heard you had gotten together with some guy. I sincerely hope the rumors are true, for your sake.”
    My cheeks were on fire. “People exaggerate. You know that.”
    Her shell-pink lips curled into a lazy, speculative smile. “Too bad.”
    I didn’t know whether to be flattered or to tell her to step the hell off. I was gravitating toward the latter when her smile fell away like a mask that was too heavy to wear for another second. “I wanted to talk to you,” she said quietly. “I’ve been thinking. You know. Since she died. About stuff. And people.”
    I looked around, at the entire cheer squad staring at Tegan like she was crazy for speaking to me, and at the Goths, who had raised their heads to watch us like they wondered if they were about to witness a girl fight. Had she really chosen me to be the recipient of her thoughts about stuff and people?
    “Tragedy has a way of making people think about life,” I said, offering the same empty statement I’d heard from one of our teachers after Nadia died. I waved my hand at her banner. “I take it this … whatever this is … is the result of your thinking?” I opened my mouth to suggest suicide prevention might have been more relevant, but her haunted expression stopped me. “This is … nice. A nice thing to do. Nadia would have approved.” It was the friendliest thing I could manage.
    Tegan gave me a fragile smile. She’d always been an organizer. She liked bossing people around. But it was usually team fund-raisers and running for student council and stuff. Charity wasn’t really her thing.
    “I wanted to do something real,” she said, staring down at her french manicure. “For her. Something that wasn’t bullshit. So I’m collecting food to take to Anchor House. It’s like a homeless shelter and soup kitchen kind of place. Nadia’s mom is on their board, and