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I’mcareful about when I go to Matt’s office. He said to me that I should only visit him at most once a week—any more than that is too big a risk.

But it’s hard not to visit him at school. I keep thinking about him all day, and it’s tempting to stop by, knowing that he’s sitting in his office, probably doing nothing.

A few days after Thanksgiving break, I find myself outside the door to his office. I see the light is on underneath the door, and I can hear voices coming from inside. I get a surge of jealousy until I realize both voices are male. I glance around and see the hallway is empty, so I press my ear up against the door.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!” It’s the voice of Victor, my classmate from remedial anatomy. He sounds even more agitated than usual.

“Your score is better than last time,” Matt is saying. “I think you just need to dedicate more time to studying.”

Okay, I get it. I know exactly what happened. Despite the extra tutoring, Victor has failed the second anatomy exam.

“I just can’t do it, Dr. Conlon. I can’t!”

“Let me give you the names of a few upperclassmen that do tutoring,” he says. “I’m sure the extra sessions will get you a passing final grade, Victor. I know you can do it.”

I’m pressing my ear so hard against the door that I nearly topple over when Victor yanks open the door. He flashes me a seething look, which makes me take a step back.

“Yes, Rachel?” Matt says, raising his eyebrows.

I look from Matt to Victor, my cheeks burning.

“Um, Dr. Conlon, I need to… um… talk to you about the exam…” I stammer.

Victor looks over his shoulder at Dr. Conlon then back at me with a sneer. He probably assumes I failed too. “Good luck,” he mutters. “He was a total asshole about the whole thing.”

I close the door behind me. Sometimes Matt scolds me when I risk visiting him, but today, he limps over to me right away. He leans in close like he’s going to kiss me, but instead he murmurs in my ear, “Did he seem high to you?”

It’s the last thing I expect him to say. “Uh, how would I know?”

“His pupils looked huge to me, like he’s on amphetamines.” He rubs his left temple with his fingers. “Or maybe I’m just imagining it.”

“Victor is always sort of that way.”

“Is he?”

He looks relieved by this answer. I don’t know how I ever could have thought he was responsible for distributing drugs to the students. I can’t imagine a less likely candidate.

But he’s right about one thing:

Victor looked high as a kite.

When I getout of Matt’s office, I am weak at the knees. I always thought that was a dumb expression used in romance novels, but I literally feel like I can’t stand up, that my legs won’t support me. I don’t know how he always does this to me. All he has to do is touch me, and my whole body tingles. Another romance cliché, but it’s true.

I’m shutting the door to his office when I turn and see another person headed toward me. For a fleeting second, I pray that it’s a janitor or someone along those lines. No such luck.

I immediately recognize the face of my classmate, Danielle Stern. There are worse people who could have seen me, but this still is not good. Obviously. And I’m certain she knows that I came out of his office.

I play it off, trying to act casual about the whole thing. After all, I haven’t done anything wrong. All I’ve done is come out of my professor’s office. Is there a law against that?

Danielle isn’t a friend or anything, so I acknowledge her with a quick nod, and she does the same to me. Except why is she staring at me? Maybe I’m being paranoid, but Danielle’s eyes are directed right at my chest like laser beams.

I look to where Danielle is staring. And that’s when I notice, to my horror, that my shirt is buttoned all wrong. Wrong enough that it seems very unlikely that I could’ve been walking around like that all day.

Christ, why did I have to wear a shirt with buttons? Why didn’t I wear a T-shirt like I do most days?

Well, at least my fly is still zipped.

Danielle shakes her head at me in disgust as she walks past me. I want to run after her and try to explain, but I have a feeling I’d just make things worse. I’m not exactly good at talking to people. I don’t know what she’s thinking, and I don’t want to put ideas in her head.

I look back at the door, wondering if I should tell Matt what just happened. Then I decide against it. He’s got enough to worry about as it is.