You were halfway through lunch,alone as usual, when Simon Riley, the popular guy everyone wants to be friends with, dropped into the seat across from you.

He didn’t ask. He just sat.

His tray clattered onto the table. One sandwich, one apple, one carton of milk. You stared at him, wondering if this was some elaborate joke. He didn’t meet your eyes, just unwrapped the sandwich like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“My mum says I’ve gotta invite you to my birthday,” he said, mouth half-full.

You blinked. "What?”

He swallowed. “She works with your mum. They think you’re too lonely.” He took another bite. “She feels bad.”

The words stung, even though they were true, but the way he said them was flat, like reading from a script.

“Oh,” you muttered.

He finally looked up. His eyes were sharp but not cruel. “It’s at mine. Saturday. Four o’clock. You can come if you want.”

You stared at him. “Do you want me to?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “Don’t care if you do. But there’s pizza. And video games . And… a pool.”