“At least you won’t peak in high school, or even in college like your dad. You’ll peak later, when it matters.”

Somehow in Liam’s mind, “peaking” was intrinsically linked to virility, which was how much sex you were having, and he definitely wasn’t waiting until after college to have sex.

Some of his classmates had had it, or claimed to, the ones who’d ventured to parties hosted by kids whose parents were never home. “It wasn’t that long ago we were the ones at those parties,” his parents would say, trying to make him feel better about his stay-at-home lameness. “We know what happens. You happened.” Most of the time Liam just hung out with them. They watched the same TV shows he wanted to watch anyway. And they let him eat most of the pizza.

There was a girl he liked. She was new last year, from England, with a famous dad. Liam hadn’t told his parents about her. He knew they knew about her dad. They were always spotting him, talking about him, acting like they knew stuff about him, when all they really knew was what they’d garnered from the New York Times, Wikipedia, Google, and his book jackets. He was older and English. The mom was American, with some fancy magazine job.

The girl’s name was Shy. She was extremely tall and thin and clumsy-looking, like she woke up in the morning much taller than she’d been the night before and had no idea where her arms and legs began and ended. She didn’t seem that shy either. They only had one class together, Latin II, and she was always raising her hand, bulldozing her way through readings and translations in her English accent. Their Latin teacher, Mr. Streko, had a thing for her, Liam could tell. It bordered on inappropriate.

“Shy is my best student,” Liam could hear Mr. Streko’s voice now, resonating down the hall. “I’m surprised to hear she’s struggling so much in her other subjects. She’s never late, she’s always prepared, her grasp of Latin is profound.”

Liam sat up and crept closer to the classroom door on his hands and knees. It was a meeting of some sort, about Shy.

“Yes, well, her father is a writer. He must have passed on some of his gift for language.” This must be Shy’s mother. “But she’s not just struggling in her other subjects. She’s almost failing.”

“And obviously she has the aptitude, given how she’s excelling in the one subject.” This was Miss Melanie, the principal, friend to all but otherwise pretty useless. The parents loved her until high school, when they realized her passive good nature was not going to help their kid get into college.