Chapter 4

My brain went completely blank. I stared at the stack of yellow notes in his hand, then at my binder lying on the linoleum between us.

I couldn’t look at him.

“Not here,” Weston said quietly. He bent down, picked up my binder, and handed it back to me. “Let’s go somewhere we can actually talk.”

I took the binder with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking, nodding without a word.

He led the way down the hallway toward the old art annex, a wing of the school that was mostly empty during first period. Neither of us said anything during…