Don’t believe me? If I wasn’t, how would I know about the top-secret elevator that is underneath the gym? You know, the one only upperclassmen know about?

How would I know that the softball captain sang the best rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody while standing on the diving board above a certain party hoster’s pool this summer? How would I know that a JV soccer player nearly broke his leg zooming down a hill on a minibike on an icy night last winter?

Have I proven myself yet?

Look, everything on this site will be 100 percent anonymous. Use a code name when you post your question, or simply leave it blank. I will approve each question before posting publicly, and if you feel the need for extra privacy, you can email me at the address listed.

So, I’m here. I’m ready to listen. I’m ready to answer.

Ask Me Anything.

Oh, and that birth control I was talking about? Check out the useful links tab to find the best locations to score some safely.

In the meantime,

Stay Sexy. Stay Healthy.

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Dean

NightLocker: Crash before 2am?

PixieBurn: Does it look like it?

NightLocker: Didn’t mean it like that

PixieBurn: Sure

NightLocker: I didn’t stop coding until 4

PixieBurn: Overachiever

NightLocker: Have to be to beat you

PixieBurn: Flattery won’t help you win

NightLocker: DC!

I frantically typed our standard code word for killing an illegal chat—DC, aka don’t chat, don’t code—when a teacher was too close to walking by one of our screens.

Amber quickly clicked off-screen, allowing the Spanish assignment to fill the space. Mrs. Francesca wasn’t the strictest teacher at Wilmont, but she’d be pissed if we were caught.

After she’d taken an unexpected walk around our quiet classroom, I flashed Amber a smile. She was six rows away from me, and we’d adapted this way of chatting a couple years ago when we’d gotten bored during Computer Science class. It was a good, solid class. It simply was teaching us things we’d known for years—it wasn’t until we’d accelerated to the more exclusive coding courses that we were actually challenged. The one saving grace of this school were those higher-level computer classes. And though Amber and I had always been in competition with each other, we’d come up with the code word to let each other know when push came to shove, we hackers had each other’s backs.

Or, at least, Amber and I did.

The word had saved me plenty of times—even when I hadn’t been actively chatting with her. A few times she’d thrown it in a chat box on my screen when I’d been coding or locked into another hack.

Amber yawned as she tried to return my gesture.

I chuckled under my breath, giving her a too-knowing look.