"Is Bridget in trouble?" he asked. Typical Sammy-go right for the jugular.

Her mom sighed. "No, Sammy. We're just having a disagreement."

"That was a loud dis-a-gree-ment," Sammy said, hanging on each syllable.

"I know, but it's nothing, Sammy. Go watch your cartoons."

Sammy didn't budge. "Bridget?"

Bridget winced. It was a sore spot in the family that Sammy always looked to Bridget first. "It's okay, Sammy."

"You're not mad?"

"I'm not mad."

"You're not sad?"

"Not at all," Bridget lied. She smiled and gave him a wink. "Now go watch your Justice League, okay? I'll join you in a minute."

Sammy grinned, exposing a row of crooked teeth, then slowly withdrew his head. As soon as the latch clicked into place, Bridget heard her mom exhale slowly, then felt the weight on her mattress shift as her mom sat down on the edge of her bed. "Bridget, I was worried."

"Would you have been worried if Matt Quinn hadn't called you?"

"If you didn't answer the phone when I called? Yes. I need a bit more responsibility from you, especially now that . . ."

Her voice trailed off, and Bridget was suddenly sorry that she'd been the cause of more stress in her mom's life.

"I'm sorry, Mom."

"Sorry isn't good enough."

Bridget sighed. It never was.

"And sorry or not, you're grounded."

"Fine." She had figured as much.

Her mom stood. "You'll come straight home after school from now on."

"For how long?" Two weeks? Three weeks? She could handle it.

"Forever."

Bridget snorted. "Funny."

"I'm serious. Until you can prove you're responsible enough with your time after school, you'll be spending it here. Starting tomorrow."

"That's not fair!"

Bridget's mom glanced over her shoulder as she walked out of the room. "Life isn't fair, Bridget. Get used to it."

Five.

HECTOR THREW HIS HALF-EATEN snack bar on the table in disgust. "So you're grounded again?"

Bridget rolled her eyes. "Don't sound so dramatic."

"What about the Franz Ferdinand concert Saturday night? I already bought the tickets."

Bridget choked on her soda. "Dammit. I forgot."

"Forgot what?" Brad Hennessy slid his heavily laden lunch tray into place next to Hector's and straddled the bench with his long, skinny legs. "History paper?"

"Done," Bridget said, dabbing drops of Diet 7Up off her sweater with a napkin.

Hector eyed the stack of sandwiches on Brad's tray. "What are you, eating for two?"

"No, dude," Brad said, two-fisting turkey sandwiches. "Baseball conditioning started last week."

"Oh." Hector's eyes moved from Brad's sandwiches to his own diet snack bar, rice cakes, and celery sticks. "I hate you right now. I hope you know that."

"Don't worry about the history paper." An elbow jostled Bridget's right arm as Peter stepped over the bench and took a seat next to her. He was wearing the ridiculous red Windbreaker again over his uniform shirt, and the cowlicks in his thick, black hair made him look like he'd just rubbed a balloon over his head. As Peter slid his tray forward, it tipped Bridget's soda can, spilling the remainder of its contents all over the cafeteria table.

"Peter!" Bridget and Hector said in unison.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Peter squeaked, frantically searching for a napkin.

Brad calmly stretched his lanky arm across the table and mopped up the pooling liquid with a napkin while Bridget tried to pretend that the whole cafeteria wasn't staring at them.

"Oh my God, Bridge," Peter said, turning crimson to match his Windbreaker. "I'm so, so sorry. Can I get you another one?"

"It's fine, Peter," she said, pushing her tray away. "I'm not thirsty."

He dropped his eyes to his tray. "Sorry."

She caught Hector making kissy faces at her from across the table and gave him a swift kick with her boot.

"Ow!" Hector grunted. "What was that for?"

"So what did you forget, Liu?" Brad said, diving into sandwich number three. She'd given up trying to get him to use her first name; can't teach an old jock new tricks.

"Franz Ferdinand concert," Hector answered for her. "She's grounded."

"Again?" Brad shook his head in disbelief.

It was like they thought she was some sort of delinquent. "Don't you guys ever get grounded?"

A look of horror spread across Peter's face. The mere concept of being grounded by Mr. and Mrs. Kim was paramount to public flogging. Brad shook his head, mouth full of turkey and canned cranberry sauce, but Hector was

smiling.

Bridget knew exactly what he was thinking. "Getting sent to Catholic school because your parents think it'll beat the gay out of you doesn't count as getting grounded."

"Please," Hector said. "That's the ultimate grounding."

Peter cleared his throat. "Um, Bridge, why did you get grounded this time?"

"Duh," Hector said. "She had a hot date with Matt Quinn."

Peter's eyes grew wide. "But you said . . ." His lower lip trembled.

"Dude, no, she didn't," Brad interrupted. "I was at Riordan Prep for a scrimmage yesterday and Quinn was practicing with the varsity team."

Hector's jaw dropped. "YOU STOOD HIM UP?"

Bridget threw up her hands. "There was no date!"

Hector ignored her and pointed at Brad. "Maybe he was trying to throw you off by pretending to practice."

Brad smiled and played along. "She could have been in his truck the whole time . . ."

"In his truck?" Poor Peter. Now they were just torturing him.

". . . taking a break from sucking face!" Hector finished. "That's totally what happened."

Brad and Hector fist bumped while Bridget shook her head. "You guys need therapy, you know that?"

She felt Peter stiffen. "Bridget, were you really with Matt-"

"Hey, Kim," Brad said, tactfully changing the subject. "What did you mean about the history paper?"

Bridget could have kissed him.

"Huh?" Peter asked.

"You said not to worry about the history paper."

Peter grudgingly turned his attention from the Archbishop Riordan Prep varsity baseball team and Matt Quinn. "Right. Mr. Singh took a leave of absence. We have a new history teacher."

"What?" Bridget said. "From Monday to Tuesday he needs a sabbatical?"

"Yanno," Hector said. "You'd think he'd have the decency not to assign that hot mess of a paper if he was going to bail on us."

Brad shrugged. "Oh, well. At least I don't have to explain why I'm not turning it in." He gathered up his tray and nodded at Peter. "We still on for tutoring tonight?"

"Yeah," Peter said. "But if it's after practice, you'll have to come to my house. My mom won't drive in the dark."

Hector bit his lip so hard trying to suppress a laugh, he practically drew blood.

"No, worries, dude." Brad stood up. "For help with algebra, I'll take it."

"I'm sure Peter can help you pass algebra this time," Hector said. Bridget caught a faint tinge of pink in his cheeks. Hector might have been able to hide his crush on Brad from everyone else on the planet, but not from her.

"Let's hope," Brad said with a grin. "Catch you guys later."

"Bye, Brad," Hector said with a wistful sigh as Brad's tall, lanky form sauntered away and disappeared into the lunchroom crowd.

"Why does he hang out with us again?" Bridget asked.

"Other than the fact that Peter keeps him from flunking math?"

"Yeah."

"Probably your hag factor."

Oh, yes, Hector's favorite topic of conversation: Brad's closeted gayness. Of course Hector was the only one who actually thought Brad was gay. Not that it stopped him.

"It's the only reason I can think of to explain hottie Brad hanging out with us social lepers," Hector continued.

"Hottie Brad?" Bridget teased. "I thought you told me he wasn't your type?"

Hector flushed. "Yeah. He's, um, totally not."

Bridget realized she'd hit a little close to home. Time to change the subject.

"So who's the gaysian of the week?"

Hector glanced up at her from beneath his heavy fringe of eyelashes and grinned. "Ah, there was a gorgeous barista at the Grind this weekend. I think I'm in love."

"You're always in love," Peter said.

Hector smirked. "So are you."