with cold water.
It’s a shock, liquid streaming over my cheeks and collecting in the hollow of my throat, splashing my white shirt. Darkening my gloves. Stupidly, I forgot to take them off.
Wake up, I tell myself. Snap out of it.
Reflected in the mirror, my dark eyes look more shadowed than ever. My cheekbones stand out, like my skin is too tight.
Really fitting in, I tell myself. Dad would be so proud. You’re a real charmer, Cassel Sharpe.
I still make it to physics before Daneca does, which is good. Theoretically she and I are still friends, but she’s been avoiding me since she started fighting with Sam. If I want to talk to her, I’m going to have to corner her.
We don’t have assigned seats, which means it’s easy for me to find a desk near where Daneca usually sits and dump my stuff on the chair. Then I get up and talk to someone on the other side of the room. Willow Davis. She seems suspicious when I ask her a question about the homework, but answers without too much hesitation. She’s telling me something about how there are ten different dimensions of space and one of time, all curled around one another, when Daneca comes in.
“Understand?” Willow asks. “So there could be other versions of us living in other worlds—like maybe there’s a world where ghosts and monsters are real. Or where no one is hyperbathygammic. Or where we all have snake heads.”
I shake my head. “That can’t be real. That cannot be real science. It’s too awesome.”
“You didn’t do the reading, did you?” she asks, and I decide that this is the moment to retreat to my new desk.
When I walk back, I see my plan has worked. Daneca is sitting where she always does. I move my backpack and flop into its place. She looks up, surprised. It’s too late for her to get up without it being really obvious that she doesn’t want to sit next to me. She scans the room like she’s racking her brain for some excuse to move, but the seats are mostly full.
“Hey,” I say, forcing a smile. “Long time, no see.”
She sighs, like she’s resigned herself to something. “I heard you got into a fight.” Daneca’s wearing her Wallingford blazer and pleated skirt with neon purple tights and even brighter purple gloves. The color of them more or less matches the faded purple streaks in her wooly brown hair. She kicks clunky Mary Janes against the brace of the desk.
“So you’re still mad at Sam, huh?” I realize this probably isn’t how he’d want me to broach the subject, but I want information and class is about to start.
She makes a face. “He told you that?”
“I’m his roommate. His moping told me that.”
She sighs again. “I don’t want to hurt him.”
“So don’t,” I say.
Daneca leans toward me and lowers her voice. “Let me ask you something.”
“Yes, he’s really, really sorry,” I say. “He knows he overreacted. How about you guys forgive each other and start—”
“Not about Sam,” she says, just as Dr. Jonahdab walksinto the room. The teacher picks up a piece of chalk and starts sketching Ohm’s law on the board. I know what it is because of the words “Ohm’s law” above it.
I open my notebook. “What, then?” I write, and turn the pad so that Daneca can see it.
She shakes her head and doesn’t say anything else.
I am not really sure I understand the relationship between current and resistance and distance any better by the end of class, but it turns out Willow Davis was right about the whole snake-head dimension thing being possible.
When the bell rings, Daneca takes my arm, her gloved fingers digging in just above my elbow.
“Who killed Philip?” she asks suddenly.
“I—,” I start. I can’t answer without lying, and I don’t want to lie to her.
Daneca’s voice is low, an urgent whisper. “My mother was your lawyer. She did your immunity deal for you, the one that got the Feds off your back, right? You made a deal to tell them who killed those people in the
It’s a shock, liquid streaming over my cheeks and collecting in the hollow of my throat, splashing my white shirt. Darkening my gloves. Stupidly, I forgot to take them off.
Wake up, I tell myself. Snap out of it.
Reflected in the mirror, my dark eyes look more shadowed than ever. My cheekbones stand out, like my skin is too tight.
Really fitting in, I tell myself. Dad would be so proud. You’re a real charmer, Cassel Sharpe.
I still make it to physics before Daneca does, which is good. Theoretically she and I are still friends, but she’s been avoiding me since she started fighting with Sam. If I want to talk to her, I’m going to have to corner her.
We don’t have assigned seats, which means it’s easy for me to find a desk near where Daneca usually sits and dump my stuff on the chair. Then I get up and talk to someone on the other side of the room. Willow Davis. She seems suspicious when I ask her a question about the homework, but answers without too much hesitation. She’s telling me something about how there are ten different dimensions of space and one of time, all curled around one another, when Daneca comes in.
“Understand?” Willow asks. “So there could be other versions of us living in other worlds—like maybe there’s a world where ghosts and monsters are real. Or where no one is hyperbathygammic. Or where we all have snake heads.”
I shake my head. “That can’t be real. That cannot be real science. It’s too awesome.”
“You didn’t do the reading, did you?” she asks, and I decide that this is the moment to retreat to my new desk.
When I walk back, I see my plan has worked. Daneca is sitting where she always does. I move my backpack and flop into its place. She looks up, surprised. It’s too late for her to get up without it being really obvious that she doesn’t want to sit next to me. She scans the room like she’s racking her brain for some excuse to move, but the seats are mostly full.
“Hey,” I say, forcing a smile. “Long time, no see.”
She sighs, like she’s resigned herself to something. “I heard you got into a fight.” Daneca’s wearing her Wallingford blazer and pleated skirt with neon purple tights and even brighter purple gloves. The color of them more or less matches the faded purple streaks in her wooly brown hair. She kicks clunky Mary Janes against the brace of the desk.
“So you’re still mad at Sam, huh?” I realize this probably isn’t how he’d want me to broach the subject, but I want information and class is about to start.
She makes a face. “He told you that?”
“I’m his roommate. His moping told me that.”
She sighs again. “I don’t want to hurt him.”
“So don’t,” I say.
Daneca leans toward me and lowers her voice. “Let me ask you something.”
“Yes, he’s really, really sorry,” I say. “He knows he overreacted. How about you guys forgive each other and start—”
“Not about Sam,” she says, just as Dr. Jonahdab walksinto the room. The teacher picks up a piece of chalk and starts sketching Ohm’s law on the board. I know what it is because of the words “Ohm’s law” above it.
I open my notebook. “What, then?” I write, and turn the pad so that Daneca can see it.
She shakes her head and doesn’t say anything else.
I am not really sure I understand the relationship between current and resistance and distance any better by the end of class, but it turns out Willow Davis was right about the whole snake-head dimension thing being possible.
When the bell rings, Daneca takes my arm, her gloved fingers digging in just above my elbow.
“Who killed Philip?” she asks suddenly.
“I—,” I start. I can’t answer without lying, and I don’t want to lie to her.
Daneca’s voice is low, an urgent whisper. “My mother was your lawyer. She did your immunity deal for you, the one that got the Feds off your back, right? You made a deal to tell them who killed those people in the
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