I must have been so keyed up about the book that I added some of my nervous energy to the projection. Usually I don’t have to worry about keeping anything more dangerous than a cheerleader out of my room. With the book here—I guess I went a little overboard.

As Troy tromps into my room, rubbing his shoulder where the shock probably traveled up his arm—thankfully there is no evidence of smoldering tee—I close the door behind him. Like it’s any other day, he collapses onto my bed, falling in a careless heap across my black comforter.

Only it’s not any other day. And when he flops onto my bed, the bounce knocks a pillow onto the floor, and when Troy reaches down to pick it up, he dislodges some of the clothes covering up the book.

And, because the book is probably cursed to cause me more trouble than it’s worth, it’s glowing again.

“Seriously, I don’t know how Ms. Alatza gets away with some of these lessons.” Troy lifts himself up onto one elbow, his ankles crossed and his sneakers hanging off the end of the bed. “She gave us an unknown sample in the morning, and we had to spend all day performing tests to identify the compound.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask absently, wondering if there is any way I can rehide the book without being obvious about it.

“You wanna know what my sample was?” he asks. Not waiting for a response, he answers, “Potassium.”

“Huh.”

Maybe if I fake tripping, I could fall right in front of the book and flick some clothes back into place while I’m down. I think I could pull it off.

“Do you know what happens to potassium when you add water?” He sits up. “Of course you don’t, because your parents aren’t making you take the Summer Intensive Premed Program so you can get into med school, even though you want to be a musician. It explodes.”

In my heavy-duty combat boots, it would only be a matter of taking a step, catching the toe of one on the heel of the other, and voila! Instant klutz.

I’m ready to begin my fake fall when Troy says, “Sorry.”

“What?” I look up, wondering why he’s sorry.

Guess I’d been too caught up in my tripping plan to listen to what he was saying. He pulls himself up into a sitting position—right above the book, darn it—and gives me a sad, apologetic look.

“Your parents,” he says, leaning forward over his knees and looking completely embarrassed. Pink cheeks and everything. “I didn’t mean to mention them.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t even noticed. “It’s fine. No big deal.”

I wave off his apology.

His head jerks back and his eyes widen. Then narrow. A look of utter suspicion furrows across his face. Uh-oh.