Chapter 1: The Last First Time The air in the North Hills gym smelled like old floor wax and desperation. It was a Tuesday, the kind of day that felt like it would never end, even though we were only three months away from graduation. I sat on the top bleacher, my legs dangling over the edge, watching Julian Miller pretend his life wasn't falling apart.From up here, Julian looked like the guy on the poster for "Perfect High School Life." He was the star point guard, the guy with the Ivy League scholarship, and the guy who currently had a bruise on his jaw that he was trying to hide with a lot of sweat and a fake smile. I knew where that bruise came from. I knew a lot of things people didn't think I noticed.My name is Elena. To most people in this school, I’m just the girl who sits in the back of the library or stares at her phone during lunch. But when the sun goes down and the parents go to sleep, I’m the one who runs the numbers. If you want to bet on the game, if you want to buy your way out of a failing grade, or if you just need someone to hold onto a secret for a price, you find me."He’s going to mess up," a voice said next to me.I didn't turn around. I knew it was Sarah, my only real friend, if you can call someone a friend when you’re both just trying to survive the same sinking ship."Julian?" I asked, keeping my eyes on him as he missed a free throw. "He’s fine. He’s just tired.""No," Sarah whispered, leaning in closer. "I heard his dad lost the house. Like, actually lost it. The bank is coming on Friday. And Julian is acting like he’s still going to Princeton. He’s living in a fantasy world, Elena."I felt a weird tug in my chest. I didn't like Julian. We weren't friends. We moved in completely different circles. He was the sun, and I was the dirt. But there was something about the way he gripped the basketball—like it was the only thing keeping him from floating away—that made me feel sorry for him.The whistle blew, ending practice. The team headed to the locker rooms, but Julian stayed behind. He started shooting again. Swish. Clang. Swish. He was punishing himself.I waited until Sarah left to go to her shift at the diner. I waited until the janitor started mopping the far side of the court. Then, I climbed down the bleachers. My boots made a heavy thud against the wood, but Julian didn't look up."You’re tilting your left wrist," I said, standing near the three-point line.Julian stopped. He caught the ball and tucked it under his arm. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving under his jersey. He looked at me, squinting like he was trying to remember if we’d ever spoken. We hadn't. Not in four years."What?" he asked. His voice was scratchy."Your shot," I said, pointing to his hand. "You’re overcompensating because of your face. It hurts to move your head, so you’re leaning left. You’ll never make a deep shot like that."Julian’s face went stiff. He touched the bruise on his jaw. "I fell. During practice.""Right," I said. "And I’m the Queen of England. Look, Julian, I don’t care who hit you. I just care that you’re going to blow the game on Friday, and half the seniors have money riding on you. If you lose, I have to pay out a lot of cash I don't want to spend."He laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. It sounded like breaking glass. "You? You’re the one running the bets? The quiet girl in the hoodie?""The quiet girl in the hoodie knows exactly how much your dad owes the casino in the city," I said, stepping closer. The air between us was hot and smelled like salt. "And I know Princeton doesn't give scholarships to kids whose families are in the middle of a fraud investigation."The color drained out of his face. He looked like he might throw up or hit me. For a second, I thought it was both. But then, he just slumped. The "perfect" Julian Miller disappeared, and in his place was just an 18-year-old kid who was absolutely terrified."How do you know that?" he whispered."I have my ways," I said. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. "This is an address. It’s a house party tonight. Not the kind of party you go to. It’s a 'clean up' party. There’s a guy there who can help your dad with the bank. But it’s going to cost you.""I don't have any money," Julian said, his voice cracking."I know," I replied. "But you have a car that’s worth fifty grand, and you have a name that people still trust. I can help you, Julian. But you have to stop pretending you’re okay. You’re 18 now. The 'I’m just a kid' excuse doesn't work anymore. If you don't fix this tonight, you’re going to wake up Saturday morning with nowhere to live."He looked at the pa