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“I know how old you are.”

“Then update your records.”

That almost got me.

I squeezed his wrist gently and let go.

He had gotten taller than me and apparently decided that should settle everything.

It settled nothing.

Chief put his tray down at the corner beside me.

I looked at his cheek.

He held up a fresh cold pack before I could say anything.

Sadie saw him do it.

For once, she had the decency to keep her amusement to herself.

The soccer players usually sat near the far windows.

I had never paid much attention to where, exactly.

Today I knew.

The boy with the taped nose was there. So was the one who’d been holding his ribs, carefully lowering himself into a chair.

Three others joined them while I watched.

One had a dark bruise beneath his left eye and another along his cheek. The next had a strip of dressing at his temple, his hair flattened awkwardly around it. The last sat with one wrist wrapped, using his other hand to move his tray, his lower lip split. When he noticed me looking, he turned his chair.

Seven.

Seven different boys, and those were only the ones I’d seen.

I looked back at our table.

Five brothers.

Chief’s mouth. Clayton’s eye. Rook’s jaw. Half of Ruckus’s face. Micah’s hands.

They were eating.

Of course they were.

“You were outnumbered,” I said.

Clayton looked up from his tray. “At what?”

I stared at him.

He held my gaze for a moment, then glanced at Chief.

Chief was watching me, not his brother.

“Don’t insult us,” Ruckus said. “I eat skinny soccer punks for breakfast.”