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When I prove I haven’t cheeked anything, I’m clear to go.

“No art today, so we’re going to rec,” Marcus tells me when I come to a stop at his side.

“Why?”

“Something about car trouble. I don’t know.”

Per usual, most everyone is congregated around the television.

“USA took gold last night in the men’s swimming relay,” he tells me as if I care.

“How exciting.”

My lack of enthusiasm gets a soft chuckle out of him.

“If you see Max coming my way, can you tell her that I just want to be alone today?”

“No problem.”

I veer off to the bookcases and scan through the titles. I’m not the least bit interested in actually reading, but I figure people will be less likely to bug me if they see my nose stuck in a book. After picking out a copy of some random sci-fi novel, I head to the far corner of the room, take a seat on the floor, and lean against the wall. I doubt anyone will even notice me tucked back here.

Opening the book, I begin reading the first page, and I’m not even a paragraph in before boredom strikes. It’s hard to imagine anyone actually enjoying this. It takes too long to get to the point. I’d much rather spend my time watching a movie. Television is even better—thirty minutes to an hour and you’re done.

“Hey.”

I peer up from the book to find Sebastian standing over me. My neck heats when I think about how he saw me yesterday.

“Go bother someone else.”

Sebastian, however, sits on the floor next to me.

I refuse to look at him because I’m too uncomfortable, so I fake read in hopes that he’ll go away. God, what is he doing? Why is he just sitting here and not saying anything? This is a new version of torture for me, and when I glance up to seek out Marcus, he’s distracted by Jeremy, who’s gesturing to the floor and talking about Gus.

“Are you okay?” His voice is soft and filled with uncertainty.

I flip an unread page and nod.

“Harlow?”

“Why are you talking to me?” I’m annoyed, dropping the book to my lap before finally looking at him.

“I just want—”

“You just want what? All the ugly details so you can go back to school and tell everyone?”

“Fuck no. God.” He sighs. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Right.” I go back to my book.

From my peripheral, I see him rest his head against the wall. He isn’t his usual assholey self—I almost wish he were because the way he’s acting now is more bothersome. Predictable is better, at least then I know what to expect.

“I’ve been a dick.”

“You’re just now realizing that?”

His hand touches mine, and I tense as he pushes the book away from my face. “I’m sorry,” he says with a seriousness I’ve never seen in him before.

It makes me uncomfortable as I stare at him, dumbfounded.