I don’t raise my hand and call attention to it this time, but when the bell rings, I immediately pack up and head in Emmitt’s direction.

Kaity raises her eyebrows at me but mouths, Good luck!

I try not to grimace in reply. I need the luck, but not for the reason she thinks I do.

I catch up to Emmitt outside of class. He’s at Grant’s side, looking all but immovable. He walks down the hallways as if he owns them, a confidence in his gait that is completely unearned given the six hours he’s spent here. Even his expression is cool and unaffected, his eyes roaming the hallways with a lazy ease.

Then he catches sight of me and a crack shows in his armor. He trips over nothing, steadied only by Grant’s hand on his arm.

“Bro, are you good?” Grant asks, eyes wide.

“I’m fine,” Emmitt says, still using his American accent.

I make my way through the crowd, sidling up beside them until I can step in front, stopping both of them in their tracks.

Grant looks at me uncertainly. “What’s up? Did our club meeting get pushed from tomorrow?”

I observe his expression, trying to measure how much of it is earnest, before coming to the conclusion that Emmitt hasn’t mentioned our rendezvous in the rain.

Which means Grant thinks I was just being a Good Samaritan this morning when I asked Emmitt to introduce himself.

Not exactly true, but I can work with it.

“No, sorry. I was just wondering if I could have a moment alone with Ezra,” I say, taking in the way Emmitt’s expression grows sharper. “I wanted to apologize for this morning.”

“Oh,” Grant says, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, of course.” To Emmitt, he says, “Meet me in the cafeteria,” and points down the hall, where the entrance to the cafeteria is. “We have lunch right now.”

“We,” I echo, looking between them. So that’s why Emmitt was in AP Italian this morning. He’s following Grant from class to class...how interesting.

Grant blinks at me, his mouth opening and closing, before Emmitt cuts in.

“It’s fine. I’ll meet you there, Grant,” Emmitt says, leaving no room for argument in his tone.

I wave at Grant as he walks away from us, casting us a curious look over his shoulder.

“What do you want?” Emmitt asks coldly, British accent back in place.

I cock my head in the opposite direction. “Join me for a walk, please?”

Emmitt doesn’t look particularly inclined to agree, so I start walking, hoping he’ll follow along anyway. After a moment, he does.

“So...” I tug on my braid. “Last I checked, your name is Emmitt.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. “So you do recognize me.”