Emmitt’s dark brown eyes flicker around the room, as if he’s hoping the answer will present itself to him. I knew it. Of course he doesn’t know Italian. Why would he?

He must have an ulterior reason for being here. The question is: what is it?

Grant whispers something to him and Emmitt clears his throat. “Mi chiamo Ezra Rivera.”

Oh my God, he’s even faking an American accent. This is ridiculous.

I clear my throat. “E? Di dove sei? Quanti anni hai? Conosci Grant? Come?”

And? Where are you from? How old are you? Do you know Grant? How?

Emmitt’s hands curl into fists, gripping onto the edge of his desk, his knuckles turning white.

“Puoi rispondere?” I ask quietly when only silence prevails.

“I’m sorry, I think I’m in the wrong class,” Emmitt says, getting to his feet. If heat vision existed, I’m certain I’d be set aflame from the daggers he’s aiming my way. As it is, I remain impassive in the face of it.

Emmitt grabs his things hastily, shoving them into his bag, before moving toward the door. I watch him go, leaning my chin against the back of my chair. He turns for only half a second as he leaves, and I offer him a wave. He stumbles in the doorway, a scowl taking over his handsome features, before he disappears into the hallway.

Almost immediately, Grant runs after him, saying, “Sorry, Miss Turano, sorry!” as he leaves the room.

Miss Turano stares at the closed door, clearly at a loss.

A beat of silence passes.

Kevin mutters, “You definitely know him,” and I loosen a deep breath, turning back to face the front of the room.

Another beat of silence.

“What,” Rosie whispers emphatically, “the fuck?”

6

Rosie doesn’t have a chance to corner me until lunch. When she finds me at my locker, the look on her face makes me want to run in the other direction.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I say, pointedly turning away from her to find my economics textbook. My locker is covered in screencaps from my favorite films, organized randomly with Pride and Prejudice (2005) hanging near the top, and Om Shanti Om (2007) taped near the bottom.

Rosie flicks my nose, making me sneeze and consequently knock my head into Moonlight (2016) and Train to Busan (2016). They both flutter to the ground.

I sigh, reaching for the tape in the back of my locker while Rosie picks up the pictures with an apologetic look on her face.

“Sorry,” she says, but then holds the pictures out of reach when I move to take them back. “Hey. Listen. We need Emmitt’s help.”

“For what?” I ask, playing dumb. It’s pointless because what transpired between us is going to come out sooner or later, but I’d like to put it off as long as possible.