“You can sit with me,” I tell Via.

“That’s some reverse psychology Mean Girls shit right there.” Knight points at me with a piece of carrot and pops it into his mouth.

Via gazes at him from under her lashes, all doe-eyed and ready to charm his pants off. “And you are?”

“Not interested,” he deadpans.

I smile inwardly, bursting with happiness. Knight is loyal to a fault. Vaughn, too. Rumor has it, when she smiled at him in the hallway earlier, he breezed past her, and drawled, “You haven’t earned the right to talk to me yet. Try again in two months.”

It’s just the people inside my own house who are warming up to the foe.

Gus is late, as usual. When he arrives, the first thing I notice is that he halts in place a few feet from the table, his knuckles white from his firm grip on his tray. He blinks at Via, shock and worry lacing his glare.

I sneak a peek at Via. She stares at Gus like she’s come face to face with a ghost.

“Gus Bauer.”

“Sylvia Scully. But everyone calls me Via.”

“Via.” He tastes her name in his mouth. And for a moment, he stares at her as though she is holding half the sky.

He takes a seat, his eyes never wavering from hers. He’s doing a crappy job of playing it cool. My heart sinks farther down to my toes. The easiest way to climb the social ladder at All Saints High is to date a first-string football player. If she dates Gus, my prom queen title can basically rest in peace. I won’t be attending its funeral, though, because Via would be there—collecting my crown.

“Where do you live?” he asks. Not a weird question to ask a new kid, I guess. Only in Via’s case, it seems as if he is accusing her of something. I look around and realize that nobody else notices this exchange. Maybe because everyone is talking about Vaughn’s new mystery girl who enjoys sucking him off in public places.

“El Dorado. I live with the Followhills,” she answers, her tone polite and docile. She has the faintest Southern twang, and I know it’s fake because she didn’t have it when we were in the car. This time, she covers her mouth with her hand when she talks, and I’m guessing it’s because she has a missing tooth. She’s been reinventing herself for the past few hours. The question is—why?

“Huh.” He opens his yogurt and licks the lid, tossing it onto the tray.

“Are you an only child?”

Alarm bells start ringing in my head. This time, Knight and I exchange looks.

Gus knows.

Regardless of Penn’s betrayal, I’d never blow his cover. His whole football career depends on this little lie. And Knight is right—he deserves a break.

Via doesn’t flinch. “I have a twin brother. He lived here the whole time I was in Mississippi with my dad.”

“And where does your brother live now?” Gus tilts his chin down, no longer mesmerized by Via’s good looks. He’s now completely focused on finding out more about Penn.

“My stepdad’s.”

“Hmm.” He frowns, feigning confusion. “Why not together?”

“My stepdad and I don’t get along. He is why I left. But the Followhills are another story. I adore Daria.” She flashes me a smile, rubbing my back, and I think I’m going to be sick. “And I’ve always been Mrs. Followhill’s favorite ballerina,” she stresses, sticking it to me. “I’m hoping to pick up where I left off.”

“So no cheerleading for you?” Esme gazes at Via down her nose. She is the only one at the table who is not completely on board with Via joining us. I wonder if she’ll change her mind once she figures out Via is after my neck, too.

I know what Esme is trying to do. She is trying to make Via come off as a snob. Someone who considers cheer to be beneath her. I want to laugh in her face. The Scullys are too smart to fall for this type of Riverdale nonsense.

Via straightens her spine.

“Oh, I would love to join! I wish I had come in time for tryouts. As it is, Mrs. Followhill says there’s a lot of work ahead of us, so maybe cheer is not in the cards for me. But I know she can push me to the top.”

Yes, I think bitterly. It’s me she is content with leaving at the bottom.

By the time the school day is over, Via is everyone’s new favorite person. People like the fact she is pretty and an athlete but also polite, Southern, and eager to please. The girls give me these looks when I pass them in the hallway as if it’s game over for me. As though no one would be able to look at me anymore without comparing us since we live together. That I will always be on the losing end.

When Via and I get into my car, I take out my phone, and there’s a text message waiting for me from Penn.

Talk.

I try to tuck it back into my bag, but Via catches it and lifts an eyebrow.

“I hope it’s not what I think it is,” she says dryly, taking out her (no, my) makeup bag and reapplying her lipstick.

“And what would that be?” I snap, starting to lose my patience.

“If you think you have a shot with my brother, for as long as I have a breath in me, you’re about to be proven otherwise, Lovebug.”

I wish I could rewrite you out of my life

But all your pages are highlighted

Dog-eared and thumbed to death

I can no longer read you

But you are still my favorite poem

That evening, my two public enemies both raise the white flag.

The first one is Mel, who summons all of us in the garage after dinner and after taking Via to the dentist to fix that missing tooth of hers. In the garage is a vehicle clothed in bright pink parked next to Dad’s Tesla. I’m standing with my arms folded. My face suggests a hostile terrorist organization has kidnapped me when Melody, with her fake enthusiasm and mental pompoms, unveils the vehicle and presents it with her arms outstretched like Vanna White on The Wheel of Fortune. It’s a bright pink Hummer Jeep.

“I know we said no presents and no celebrations—you only wanted a party—but I just couldn’t help myself.” Melody squeals and claps her hands. Via and Bailey gush right along with her. Dad and Penn are silent next to me. After the female excitement dies down, and the garage goes silent, I react.

“Wow.” I walk around it, deliberate and placid. “That is horrifyingly ugly.”

I raise my eyes to meet hers, and I’m smirking. I’m smirking because, as it turns out, she doesn’t know me after all. If she thinks she can buy her way into my heart with fancy things, she obviously misread me. Sure, I like my designer collection of dresses, shoes, and bags, and I have expensive tastes—maybe not as expensive as Knight’s, but definitely more upmarket than Vaughn’s and Luna’s—but I don’t need it. Materialistic things don’t excite me. I like them because they’re there and available. Because they’re a calorie-free treat.

Melody’s smile collapses like a straw house in the wind, and she blinks back at me. I think she is about to cry but find it hard to care. She brought my nightmare into my house without even warning me. She made it so perfectly clear that she is not half as impressed with me as she is with my sister.

“I think it’s amazing, Mom.” Bailey rushes to console our mother, hugging her tight. “Don’t worry. It’ll grow on Daria.”