Inside the office, the secretary, Mrs. Kennedy, ignores me. Her dark head is bent over a keyboard and she keeps typing even after I say "Excuse me," for the second time. Finally, I just ask, "Who do I speak to about changing my timetable?"

I need to get out of math and biology. I don't want to be there with Nick or his friends.

"It doesn't work that way, sweetie. This isn't the city," she says through the tapping of her quick-moving fingers.

I try to be polite and ask to see the principal. Then I threaten to drag Cassie into this, or Dad.

Through our interaction, Mrs. Kennedy makes it clear she seriously hated my mom. She brings her up twice as she rejects each request I make. It turns out hate can be intergenerational because by the end I sense she seriously hates me too.

Finally, she sighs, stops her typing, and gives me her full attention, her dark, antagonistic eyes resting on me. "It's too late to adjust your schedule. You would need to be moved into the afternoon math class and then we would have to find you another science class, but there are no science classes in the morning. Your mother grew up here. She knows how it works. Ask her and stop wasting my time."

Her words almost make me laugh. I can picture myself calling Mom and her picking up on her side, with the sound of waves hitting Chad's yacht. Hey mom, how does it work if I want to change classes? As if that would ever happen. Not in a million years.

I leave the office stuck with the same schedule.

Mr. Wolburn gives me an icy stare as I come into class at eight fifty-two. He's dressed in black slacks with a navy-blue shirt tucked in at his narrow waist and a polka-dot tie, but despite this, still looks like he'd be more comfortable in a tank top and shorts, squatting with weights on his shoulders. He gets up and comes round to me.

"So, what happened to you?" he asks, as he perches on his desk with his legs spread wide apart. He stares at my face as he waits for an answer, but I have no idea what he means. This entire interaction feels weird. I can sense his underlying annoyance at me and it seems off. Too tense, like I let him down somehow.

"I thought I asked you to come in before class," he finally says, looking up from his polished shoes. "I was here at eight-thirty. Why weren't you?" He grabs his water bottle from his desk, twists the cap off, and takes a swallow before he sets it down.

Voices from behind us make him glance over my shoulder. "Come see me after school tomorrow. And show up this time."

I go to my desk and try to remember his exact words to me yesterday. Did he mention a time? I hadn't gotten the impression it was important, just something he could tell me in the five minutes before class started, not twenty-five minutes before.

When the morning bell rings, I'm seated in the chair beside Hilary's empty desk, my gaze fixed on my textbook. It's not comfortable here, not when every time I glance at the board, I find Mr. Wolburn watching me. It feels all wrong.

From the corner of my eye, I notice Nick, Will, and his friends walk in. Hilary comes in a minute later and stands with hands on hips as she asks the girl in front of me to change seats with her, claiming she can't see.

"I'll switch with her, Mr. Wolburn." I look behind me. Barry waves his raised arm at the teacher and my eyebrows pinch together in confusion at what's going on here.

Mr. Wolburn's lips tighten. "No, I don't think so," he says, with a shake of his head. His gaze sweeps the classroom before coming to a rest on someone at the back. "Will, take Hilary's desk. I've wanted to move you up for a while." He pauses as he scans the room. "Emily, take Will's seat. You're a talented girl. Sitting there shouldn't influence you unduly." His gaze falls on Hilary. "You," he curls his finger, "sit up here with me."

Hilary glares over her shoulder at me as she marches forward and throws herself down onto Emily's chair. The girl named Emily hurries to her assigned seat, her face a bright red, and a moment later Will slides into Hilary's old spot. His leg brushes against me under the desk before he pulls it away. He sits so near his broad shoulders almost touch mine. As quietly as I can, I shift my body to the edge of my chair.

Mr. Wolburn prattles on, but this proximity to Will leaves my head in a sluggish fog. I close my eyes. I can't focus on anything but the fact that if he leans to the right or adjusts himself in his seat, he might bump my arm. My heart pumps faster. I force myself to concentrate on my breath. The last thing I need is to have an attack here in front of everyone.

When my eyelids flutter open, I catch Will staring at me.

"I thought you fell asleep." He colors as if embarrassed at being found watching me. "You were breathing so deeply."

I flush, and he interprets it as shame. "Don't worry, no one saw you." A moment later, he leans in again and whispers, "You can keep doing it. I won't bother you."

From the front, Mr. Wolburn shouts, "Will, if your eyes don't stay up here, I'll move you. Pay attention to the board."

At the end of class, when I leave the room, Mr. Wolburn turns away from the conversation he's having with my chemistry teacher in the hallway outside the door. His gaze travels over me. It's the briefest motion but enough to send a shiver down my back.

As I pass him, he stops me with a touch of my wrist. "Don't forget you're stopping by after school tomorrow. Don't flake out on me again."

When his fingertip glides over my skin to my knuckles, I jerk my hand away.

Flake out? I swallow my discomfort and the words I want to say to him. How can it be flaking out when he never asked me to come in at eight-thirty? Besides, why act like this anyway, like I owe him something when he doesn't even know me?