“I overheard her talking to Dad last night. More like venting. She was going on and on about the start-of-year meeting. How Tanner had dug his heels in when some other board members suggested a more progressive change to the school rules.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Looks like a lot of people think this approach is outdated. But he swore up and down that this has been the way Wilmont has done things for decades. Brought up his grandfather and his father who were principals before him.” She rolled her eyes. “Claimed that his approach equated to better standard test scores and more Ivy League college acceptances.”

“Wow.” I was stunned that anyone would try to go up against Tanner. Stunned and awed. It was about time someone pushed for change at this school.

Sure, Wilmont had the best academics program in the state—the sole reason my parents, and many others, tolerated the school’s more archaic rules—but I thought it was more detrimental than helpful. Trying to keep my friends and me ignorant on sexual health was ridiculous.

“I know,” Hannah said, drawing me to the present. “Mom said they gave him a year to prove it—she didn’t mention how—but if we thought he was strict before, I can’t imagine what he’ll be like now that his job is on the line.”

I chewed on my lip, gazing behind Ms. Conner.

Dean Winters sat at the desk to her left, clicking away on the keyboard, his blue-gray eyes flitting over the monitor screen. He was dubbed Wilmont’s resident genius hacker—mostly because his older brother, Sean, had made a name for himself here before graduating two years ago—but I wasn’t far behind Dean’s skill level.

We’d made a game of topping each other in our coding class, but he had this laid-back calm about him that always combated my can’t-sit-still-for-one-second persona that drove me nuts. I was certain Dean didn’t need any advice on the stuff Hannah and I were talking about. He was wicked gorgeous, and though he likely could have his pick of any girl at Wilmont, he flew solo on the reg.

I understood that. The hacker lifestyle—late nights lost between codes and crossing boundaries that begged for it—was hard to understand if you weren’t also into it.

Brandon had complained on a daily basis about the amount of time I spent with my gear.

Dean pushed some stray sandy-blond hair off his forehead, his eyes sharp on the computer screen. No doubt booting up the presentation that Principal Tanner created himself every year—slides and videos with facts on how sex was as dangerous as drinking and driving. I don’t know why he had to enlist Dean to get the presentation up; it wasn’t any more technical than pressing play, but then again, Tanner loved a power trip.