Grudgingly, she said, “Ema.”

“Okay. Ema.”

She played with her food some more. “So what’s your deal? I mean, when you’re not rescuing the fat girl.”

“Your bitter act,” I said. “It’s a little over the top.”

“You think?”

“I would dial it back.”

She shrugged. “You might be right. So you’re a new kid, right?”

“I am.”

“Where you from?”

“We traveled around at lot,” I said. “How about you?”

She grimaced. “I’ve lived in this town my whole life.”

“Doesn’t seem to be too bad.”

“I don’t see you fitting in yet.”

“I don’t want to fit in.”

Ema liked that reply. I looked down at my tray. I picked up my spoon and thought of, well, Spoon. I shook my head and smiled.

“What?” Ema asked.

“Nothing.”

It was weird to think about this, but when my father was my age, he sat in this very cafeteria and ate his lunch. He was young and had his whole life ahead of him. I glanced around the room and wondered where he would have sat, who he would’ve talked to, if he laughed as easily back then as when I’d known him.

These thoughts became like a giant hand pushing down on my chest. I blinked and put down the spoon.

“Hey, you okay?” Ema asked.

“Fine.”

I thought about Bat Lady and what she had said to me. Crazy ol’ bat-hey, maybe that’s where she got the nickname. You don’t just get a rep like hers for nothing. You get it for doing crazy things. Like telling a boy who saw his father die in a car crash that the man he missed so much was still alive.

I flashed to the day just eight months ago when we landed in Los Angeles-my father, my mother, and me. My parents wanted to give me a place where I could go to high school and play for a real basketball team and maybe go to college.

Nice plans, right?

Now my dad was dead and my mother was shattered.

“Ema?” I said.

She looked at me warily.