It’s a tough switch-up, but doable. Conner has Honors Biology in the morning, second period, making it his homeroom. I have it fifth period, after second lunch. Conner has first lunch, which makes it difficult for him to return the book to me before my class. The only feasible time to swap my textbook is the five-minute passing period between second lunch—Conner’s fourth period—and fifth period.

I’m not one for mathematics, but figuring out this whole system definitely should earn me a higher grade in Calculus.

I tossed around the idea of several different swap sites—somewhere discreet and out of the way so that nobody would have to see me and Conner interacting and start asking questions. Neither the theater or the wrestling kids want to see an alliance between factions. And Conner still seems to be fidgety and uncomfortable in public when I’m around, as he continues to try to figure out whatever the hell he’s trying to figure out.

The music room, empty the second half of the school day, seemed sure-fire, but then I remembered how many trombonists use it as their disgusting little sex lair. I thought about returning to my desolate hallway, but it picks up with foot traffic when everybody heads to shop class. Finally, I struck gold: the broken vending machine tucked behind the gym. It’s perfect—nobody goes there because all that machine does is eat money, but it’s also connected to a major school thoroughfare that Conner and I can slip in and out of easily without arousing suspicion.

I tell Conner all of this, going so far as to draw him a map on notebook paper.

“Whoa,” he says. “You think a lot about this kind of stuff.”

Once that’s been figured out, we do a trial run. Over the course of the next week, we meet by the vending machine for our covert swap.

“Are the sunglasses really necessary?” Conner asks on the first day.

“Of course! I’m being incognito.”

Conner laughs then turns to the vending machine.

“Ooh, Starbursts,” he says, pulling out a dollar from his pocket.

“Not a good idea,” I tell him. “It’s not going to work.”

On day two, Conner is a minute late, leaving me checking my phone anxiously. When he shows up, I give him a severe look.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, as he hands me my Bio textbook. “Gym went a little long.”

“Your dad really needs to learn to reign it in.”

“It was actually Mr. Ryans, the assistant coach. He kept talking—”

“About his whole infinite dimensions theory? I had him for math last year.”

“Exactly,” Conner says. “Do you think in another dimension, I’m the one giving you my biology textbook?”

“Maybe, and in another one you’re not late.”

On the third day, we both get to the alcove about the same time, so we have to stagger our disappearances. Conner first, then me.

“Here you go,” Conner says. “I don’t know if I’ve told you how much I appreciate this. You’re really saving my ass here.”

I let myself smile. It feels good to be helping somebody.

“No problem,” I say. “Although in that other dimension, I’m fucking pissed about it.”

Day four, I’m the one who turns up late after a sloppy freshman fight obstructs my path.

“Well, well, well,” Conner says when I finally arrive.

“Don’t be smug, I know,” I say. He smiles, hands me my textbook, then bangs on the vending machine.

“I really wish this thing would work,” he says.

On day five, he’s already ahead of me, and I slip in after him seamlessly, all the other students passing by without a single glance at us. They have no idea what we’re doing, that we’re meeting right under their noses.

“I have to say,” Conner says, “I’m surprised this is working so flawlessly.”

“I can’t believe you still didn’t have faith after I drew you a whole map.”

“A lot can go wrong in execution. But we did a great job.”

We. I have to turn away so I don’t get doe-eyed looking at him.

“We did a good job,” I say. “Same time next week?”

“Always,” Conner says, then slips by me.

#

I’ve been so busy handling the hurt Colleen that it’s not until next week at lunch that I realize how fast the new kid has climbed his way up the social ladder.

“Look,” Bridget says on Monday in the lunchroom. “Isn’t that Conner or whatever, the wrestler from your science class?”

Sure enough, it’s him, ensconced at the popular table. He’s surrounded by Byron and Matt, two other wrestlers, a few of the other jocks, and, the shining jewel among them…

“Angelica,” Bridget says with venom. “Just looking at her makes me want to destroy something innocent.”

Angelica and Bridget’s feud is legendary amongst the halls of Buchanan High. Their history is lengthy, complicated, and vaguely gross.

“Honestly, I’m surprised,” I say. “Conner has really made his mark.”

“Yeah, and outed himself as a fucking idiot,” Bridget says. “Who else would hang out with those demons?”

“Totally. You’re totally right.”

“Sucks you have him for a partner,” Bridget says. “He seems awful.”

For a second, I want to defend Conner. He’s a little all-over-the-place, but he’s not like Angelica, or the other popular kids. He’s nice. He’s nice to me.

But I can’t tell Bridget that.

“It’s the worst,” I say. “I’m seriously considering asking Mrs. Weathers to let me switch,”

As if he can sense what I’m saying, Conner suddenly turns and sees us. I look the other way and guiltily follow Bridget to our lunch table.