I know something is wrong the second we pull into the school parking lot.
Conversations dip when Tyler’s car glides past; since he still can’t drive, I went over to his house early this morning and drove us here. Heads lean closer together, and phones tilt slightly in our direction.
I cut the engine and sigh. “What now?”
“Is it ever a normal day in Westfield High if there isn’t some new gossip?” Tyler reaches for the door handle without looking at me. “You don’t have to walk in with me.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” I retort.
Despite him thanking me last night, I’ve grown accustomed to the fact that the Tyler back home and the Tyler in school are two different people. So, I already braced myself for this version.
We barely make it halfway across the lot before Maya rushes toward me with w
