I make myself keep talking. “I did. I just couldn’t.”

Devontae looks confused.

“Okay, okay. The truth? I don’t go to Setzler’s Arena. Ever.”

Devontae slowly sits back down. “Because you hate rodeo?”

Just say it. “Because of the bathrooms.”

“The bathrooms?” he repeats. Glory, I’m going to have to spell it out.

“Porta-potties aren’t the most accessible spots on the planet.” I point to my wheels with both hands, in case he’s 100 percent dense, then make for the door before I discover if you can literally die of embarrassment.

Halfway there, Devontae catches me. “I’m a jerk, okay?” He takes a knee so we’re eye to eye. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Most people don’t.”

“I won,” Devontae says suddenly.

“Huh?”

“You asked how I did. I won.” Devontae’s not one to big himself up, but the pride on his face is clear. Makes me wish I’d been there to see him ride.

“You get another big, shiny buckle?” I work hard to sound only low-key interested.

He shrugs, working hard to look modest. “Medium shiny. So, we good?”

“We’re good.” Telling him wasn’t quite as awful as I’d feared, and I feel better now.

“Great. Now can we stop stalling on this project, or what?” he says. “Not that I’m dying to do homework, but I only get to ride as long as my grades stay up.”

Then, of course, Dawn runs into the library and scurries over like she’s found the missing crown jewels. Before she can embarrass me too badly, I tell her we’re talking homework, and she at least goes and sits at another table.

When she’s out of earshot, Devontae leans over. “What’s with the new supervisor?”

I roll my eyes and whisper back the highlights. Devontae winces like a horse just stomped his newest pair of boots.

“Dang,” he says. “No way out of it?”

“Trust me, I’m working on it.”

Devontae makes a scrunched-up thinking face. “Why don’t we work at my house? She can’t follow you there, right?” he adds, his eyes going wide at the thought.

I laugh. “No! I leave her at the door at three thirty.” The idea of working on our project at his house is both nerve-racking and exciting. We agree to work it out with our parents and meet next week.

“Okay, then.” Devontae hops to his purple-and-green-booted feet, and we head out of the library, Dawn trailing a few paces behind. Halfway down the hall, Devontae leans over and whispers, “I feel like I’m in some spy movie.”

“Tell me about it.” I fill him in on the mild mayhem I’ve been committing all week to help Dawn earn her paycheck, and he gets a look on his face that my mom would have called puckish.

“You know…” he says slowly, and I can almost see an idea blooming in his brain. “Maybe you could switch up your approach.”

“How do you mean?”

He waves the magazine he’s still holding. There’s a cowboy on the front, holding tight as a tick to a bucking horse.