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“You know, some teachers think entirely differently about him,” I point out, trying to make it seem like it’s not me who thinks that way.

She waves a hand over her round glasses and perfectly made-up face. “So Theo gets into a few disputes with his teachers here and there. Some teachers don’t know what to do with a gifted student like him, so they scold him or penalize him.”

“Didn’t he call Mr. Johnstein ‘a tyrant who doesn’t know how to use Google without an assistant’?”

Ms. Cortez makes a face. “Well, that wasn’t kind, but it was my understanding that Mr. Johnstein had some choice words about a student who may or may have not had some views about women’s rights so, you know, there is such a thing called freedom of speech.”

“Ms. Cortez,” I say, on half a laugh, half a scold. Of course I won’t repeat what she says to me here, but I worry some other student might. She’s one of the oldest staff members yet looks like one of the youngest, and has the filter of an eighty-nine-year-old man yelling at kids to get off his lawn.

She shushes me. “Be a favorite and keep quiet. Of course Theo could be more respectful, even in classes he’s already ahead in. We all have flaws. That’s why I’m on my fifth husband.”

“Ms. Cortez.”

“My point is,” she starts, waving me off, the rings on every one of her fingers reflecting the ceiling lights, “I’m glad you’re on the team. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Actually,” I say, eyeing the cozy leather chair opposite her mahogany desk, “my study hall room is being occupied by the theater kids. Can I do some work here?”

“Course you can, honey.” She gestures to the chair. “I have some papers to grade. Let’s get to it.”

After sinking into the cushion, I pull out my binder and head to the section of photocard holders—taken from Lexie’s binder at the peak of her Seventeen obsession and collected their photos—and start putting the photos of the vandalism in the slips.

Some of the photos are close up, revealing the smallest details I didn’t see from the images students posted while walking to school the morning before it was removed. This red—so pigmented it’s not at all streaky—covers the founder’s lips. The same red dots his bronzed cheeks; and the design around the eyes, meant to resemble a clown, is done meticulously well.

The other photos are zoomed a little further out, more focused on the red wig and the clown jacket slung on him.

“Ms. Cortez,” I say, squinting at the closest one I have, “are there any other photos close up on the face?”

“Hmm.” I hear her long nails tapping. “I think that’s all of them. Why, something catch your attention?”

My gaze is stuck on the lips. There’s something familiar about them, but not too much that I can understand the reason I keep focusing on them. “No. Maybe. I’m not sure.”

“I’ll ask the maintenance team who took them just in case.”

“Thanks.” I put all the photos away. I don’t have time to focus too much on this now. There is a history quiz next period, and I was so busy working on my math last night that I didn’t spend my minimum allotted time dedicated to studying. I remove my notes from my backpack and hurriedly skim to this month’s section.

It’s all I do until the bell rings. I shoot up. I forgot that I was planning to leave early to get a good seat. Another fail on my part. What is with me lately?

“See you, Ms. Cortez,” I call out as I rush to clean up my things.

“Don’t work too hard,” she shouts after me as I hurry off.

I snag a seat in the front row, right beside the window. When the teacher isn’t facing me, I raise it up a few inches so the cold air can hit me and keep me more awake. I open up my text and try to skim over as much as I can before the class fills.

“Lopez.” I recognize Theo’s voice as he sits beside me. “Take a breather; it’s a quiz, not an exam.”

I lift my gaze for a moment to frown at him. “Don’t you usually sit at the back?”

“Noticed me again, hm?” He laughs when I roll my eyes. “Usually, yes. But that’s because I’m always late and all the other seats are taken.”

Distractions. I don’t need this info right now. “Cool, be quiet now.”

“Somebody is extra rude today.”

“Shut up,” I say, hunching over my materials.

He holds a hand over my papers. “What if I don’t want to?”

“I hate when you do this,” I snap, finally making eye contact with him. “I get that everyone should care about themselves more than anyone else, but sometimes when someone tells you to leave them be, you should. Or maybe you decided not to pay attention to what I’m saying. I hate when you do that too, by the way: ignore me when I’m saying what I want. Can you please not be an asshole today?”