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“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry that you almost got caught doing illegal things you shouldn’t have been doing in the first place.”

“Jessica,” he said. “You don’t know what it’s like when cops see me. It’s some scary shit, all right?”

“I know.” I didn’t really, but I could imagine.

It was hard to look at him knowing there was a space between us, one that hadn’t been there before. And I wanted to ask him how much time ‘time’ was, but was too afraid of the answer. I didn’t want to get hit by anything else today.

“So, uh,” he said, flashing his hall pass, and edging past me for the boy’s restroom.

“Yeah,” I said, and slunk into mine.

I was in the same bathroom Sarah’d accosted me in this morning, and the mirror showed me my haggard reflection. I was really going to have to up my game, if I wanted my mother to keep believing I was seeing Liam.

I splashed my face with water and went into the last stall. If I heard anyone outside, I’d have plenty of time to yank my legs up. But I did have to pee—I sat down, listening to myself, nervous that someone else would come in, and looked around.

The light this side of the bathroom was always dim and no matter how often our janitors painted over things there were words etched in, messages from bygone classes about how awesome they were, or people’s names written in equations like Janie plus James really would equal forever.

But when I reached to my right for toilet paper, I saw something new, written in fresh sharpie.

Danny is.

It was the period that let me know it was a complete sentence, not a mad-lib left by another girl waiting for a verb.

Someone had agreed with me.

And below that was:

He is.

I KNOW.

Everyone knows.

Fuck baseball!

Each line’s handwriting was different with different inks. I put my hand to the stall’s cold metal as if I could reach through to them. Then the bell rang overhead and I realized I needed to get back to class.

CHAPTER 47

Without my backpack, I made it to English in record time—but not fast enough. I burst in and looked over to where my desk was. My backpack, with all my notes in it, was gone—and my phone was in the front pocket.

Mr. Young stood there in all his tweed-jacketed English-teacher glory. “Ms. McMullen, my hall pass?”

I handed it out to him, sputtering. “Did you see who took my bag?”

He looked to where I was looking, and understood. “Oh, no, sorry—maybe a friend grabbed it?”

“Yeah.” There was no point in explaining to him that I almost didn’t have any.

I went back into the hall. I knew they’d leave a look-out. What good was taking my stuff, without getting the joy of watching me be upset about it? Sure enough, I saw Andrew across the hall. He gave me a slow nod.

Don’t panic, Jessie. Don’t panic, Jessie. Don’t panic.I walked over to him, hands out like I was placating a feral dog. “Hey, Andrew. Have you seen my bag?”

“Uh, maybe?” He did his best impersonation of someone acting like an idiot. It wasn’t hard, seeing as he was one.

“Could you tell me where?” I asked, with a fake smile plastered high.