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He snorts, then asks, “Wait, you’re serious?” Of course that kind of reasoning would sound like nothing to someone who probably has given all of five seconds of thought to his own future.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Yes, Theo, I need to study. I have to maintain a 4.0 every semester, so when I’m not talking with strangers, I’m doing just that.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Stranger feels harsh.”

“Are we done here?”

He lets out a low chuckle that sends a mix of frustration and a fluttering sensation I’m not too familiar with through me. “You are hard to talk to. Has anyone ever told you that?” When I don’t do anything but glare, he says, “I get it’s a two-month case. I don’t know why they spaced it out so much, but we don’t have to meet that often.”

Theo—unsurprisingly—doesn’t understand how much actually goes into these cases.

I have to go through all the school guidelines and code of conduct and figure out which ones are relevant. There’s also all the time I need to build my evidence and find a solid foundation for whatever argument I decide to proceed with for the case. I also have to find witnesses, calculate what the opposing party is going forward with, figure out how to counter that, and so much more—all things I don’t feel like explaining to someone I have no ties to. Not to mention the mock trials include filling out so many documents, contracts, motions, and pleadings.

“No,” I say.

“I’ll help you study; that way, you won’t fall behind.”

Now I snort. “Please, you’ve spent more time asleep than awake in class.”

He smirks, and a dimple on the left side of his chin appears. “So you’ve noticed me?”

I run a frustrated hand through my wavy hair. “Look, I’m sure whoever takes your case will do fine.”

The bell rings, and in an instant, chatter and footsteps join us in echoes as students leave their rooms for the next.

Theo drops down onto his knees, grabs my hands in both of his, and pulls his face into the most pathetic, big-eyed pleading expression I’m sure would bring any girl to their knees too. I mean, even mine do a little buckle—I am a girl with working eyes.

“Please,” he says so dramatically as people walk by and take in the scene. “Trust me, whoever ends up taking over will not do as good a job as you. They’re trying to kick me off the basketball team; I need a guarantee. I need you.”

People start snickering, and a quick scan around us reveals a rapt audience and a few phones to record the ordeal.

I try to pull my hand away, but his squeezes tighter. “Let go,” I hiss.

“Say yes.”

“People are going to think you’re proposing.”

“Is that what it’ll take?” Theo says. “Because Violet Lopez, I would be honored if you—”

I manage to yank my hand away. “Have some dignity, you moron,” I snap before walking around him and pushing myself through the crowd, ignoring the few “Mrs. Hudson” comments following me as I hurry into class.

When I finally make it, Peter Macintosh is sitting in my seat.

I hate Theo Hudson.

CHAPTER 2

Though I managed to forget about Theo and the back of Peter Macintosh’s shirt for my exam, there’s still this anxiety in the pit of my stomach, and it feels like the organ is freezing into a block of ice and melting every other minute. Just like I knew it would, the formula tripped me up, and I spent an extra seven minutes on a question, which made me have to cut off a minute of double-checking my other answers.

It’s why I’m in the girls’ bathroom during final period, splashing cold water over my face. I have to get the problem out of my mind as soon as possible. Time spent thinking about a past problem can be better used thinking about future ones.

After my seventh splash, the door creaks open, and a clatter of heels on tile follows. I look up from the puddle of water gathered in my hands and spot two girls as they walk in.

“See, I told you she was in here,” Chloe, a former friend of mine from freshman year, says, another girl following close behind. “Violet, I’m so glad we caught you.”

My chin lifts as I raise a single brow, a move my mom taught me when I was eleven and decided to put on her work heels and pin-straight blazer and declared: “I want to be a lawyer.”

“Like me?” she asked.