Claire widened her eyes.

“What?”

Maya turned.

“You hit me with your tray.”

“You backed into it.”

A few students laughed nervously.

Maya looked around.

Several had clearly seen what happened.

Nobody spoke.

She breathed slowly.

“Stay away from me.”

Claire leaned against the serving rail.

“Relax.”

Maya put the tongs down.

She should leave.

That was the first thought.

Walk away.

Get Mercer.

Get a teacher.

Do exactly what every adult had told her to do.

Maya picked up her tray.

Claire stepped sideways and blocked the narrow space between Maya and the rail.

“Move.”

Claire smiled.

“You scared?”

Maya looked at her.

“No.”

“Then why are you always running to teachers?”

“I’m trying to eat lunch.”

Claire moved closer.

“You ruined my year.”

“You forged my name.”

“Shut up.”

“No.”

The answer was quiet.

Claire stared at her.

“What?”

Maya’s voice remained level.

“I said no.”

Claire’s face changed.

Maya continued.

“You lied about your hours.”

A crowd was forming now.

Students stepped away from the line.

Others turned from nearby tables.

“You got caught.”

Claire’s jaw tightened.

“That had nothing to do with me.”

“It had everything to do with you.”

“You could’ve covered for me.”

“Why would I?”

“You think you’re so perfect.”

“No.”

Maya shook her head.

“I think your mistakes belong to you.”

Someone behind Claire whispered, “Damn.”

Claire heard it.

That was the moment the argument stopped being about service hours.

Now there was an audience.

Claire stepped forward and shoved Maya with her forearm.

Maya struck the counter again.

Her tray tilted.

Some food slid toward the edge.

“Don’t touch me.”

Claire laughed.

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing if you stop.”

“You’re going to report me again?”

“I probably won’t have to.”

Maya looked around at the students watching.

Claire followed her eyes.

Phones were beginning to appear.

That should have stopped her.

Instead, it made everything worse.

Claire raised one hand and struck toward Maya’s face.

Maya blocked with her forearm.

The cafeteria erupted.

“Yo!”

“Claire!”

“Stop!”

Claire grabbed at Maya’s hoodie.

Maya pulled free.

“Get off me!”

Claire reached again.

This time Maya pushed her arms away.

Claire stumbled backward.

Then charged forward.

Maya had spent seven years training in boxing.

Very few people at Harrison Ridge knew that.

Her father, Leon Reynolds, had boxed as a teenager and later volunteered at a community gym. Before he died from pancreatic cancer when Maya was twelve, he had taught her basic footwork, balance, and defense.