“Right. Good, you are paying attention,” Dr. Rush says, quickly calling out another name and sending me back to my chair, back to safety. I nearly sprint up the risers to the door at the back of the room so I can get a drink. I manage to calm the tickle, and slip back inside without making much noise at all. Once at my seat, I lean down for my bag so I can sneak a look at Cody, but his seat is empty now.

I can’t deny the disappointment I feel at his absence. I grimace and roll my eyes at myself for feeling downright abandoned because my secret crush left a classroom. Pushing my book open and deciding to follow along, I adjust my notepad to make room. That’s when I see it—the makeshift business card Cody handed me the first day we met. White paper, black pen, his name, and his number—I slide it from the pages of my book and prop it up in front of me.

I’m no longer listening. No, now I’m considering. I tap my pencil on the card while I think, trying to work up the courage. I know I can’t call him. I have no words, and I’m pretty sure I would just start coughing again from my nerves. And that’s if he would even answer. Calling is definitely out—but texting him?

As soon as the professor’s back is turned, I reach down and slide my phone from my bag to my lap. I’m deep enough in the classroom that I have some privacy, as long as Dr. Rush doesn’t pace the aisles. I give it a few more minutes for him to begin working out the rest of the problem I started with a new student, and I start typing in my lap.

Where did you go?

I watch the cursor blink. I sound desperate—and a bit like a stalker. I delete and start again.

Are you spying on me?

Now I just sound stupid.

I lean forward, chew on my pencil, making eye contact with Dr. Rush once or twice so he’ll buy into the idea that I’m paying attention. I know that if he calls on me again, I’m screwed, so I take my time, even going so far as to pretend to take notes. In actuality, I start doodling and writing down lyrics from my favorite Killers’ song.

Then it hits me. The Killers—that’s it!

Do you like The Killers?

Send.

I wait, breath held the entire time. When my phone vibrates, I almost jump. I lean forward, chew on the pencil more, write more lyrics, and slide my phone to the end of my knee so I can read over the edge of the desk. If someone were to give me nudge from behind, I’d tip over.

Sure. And ???

I smile instantly. He sent me two words, but they weren’t good or bye—they were an opening. I suck in my lips to hold in a deep breath before I type.

I’m sure you noticed I need more tutoring? Well, there’s an extra ticket to next month’s show in it for you. Interested?

I wait again, my knee bouncing up and down uncontrollably. I bought tickets to the show a few months ago, before I knew Trevor would be gone. I was just going to sell them on Craigslist, make a little extra money. But the thought of going with Cody is far more appealing—as friends, of course.

Minutes pass, and soon it’s been the full half-hour. I note the next round of assignments from the book and slouch slightly in my seat—suddenly worried that I’ll be tackling them on my own, or with the help of YouTube. I feel foolish, and the thought of running into Cody at home is mortifying.

I tuck Cody’s card back into my book, and stuff it and my notes into my backpack, and toss it over my shoulder. I’m almost out of the room when I hear him say my name.

“Charlie?” Cody says, standing by the seat I just left, my portfolio case dangling by its straps from his hand. “You forget something?”

I bite my lip as I smile, mostly to mask how freaking excited I am to see him. I shrug as I walk back to him.

“Thanks, I wonder how far I’d get before I realized I left my entire life’s work here,” I say. He hands it to me, and I tuck it under my arm, my shyness creeping back up on me as I think about my texts.

“So The Killers, huh?” he says, half squinting at me like he’s trying to tell if I’m telling the truth. “You know…I didn’t know that was you texting me at first. It took me a few minutes to figure it out.”

I’m washed with relief. Of course he didn’t know—he doesn’t have my number. Or, at least, he didn’t until now.

“Sorry, I guess I should have said that from the start,” I say. Feeling clever, I hold a finger up and pull my phone from my pocket to send him a text.

This is Charlie, by the way.

As soon as Cody pulls his phone from his pocket and reads my message, he busts out laughing, then he types a quick note back to me while we begin walking from the classroom.