Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting alone by the school secretary’s desk in the reception area. My parents are in the next room over in the principal’s office. I can still hear Mom perfectly well through the closed door. “This is a disaster,” she says, her voice clear and strong.

I almost feel bad for our principal, who is a mousy man with an unfortunate comb-over. I’m sure he didn’t expect to be taken to task by my mother when he showed up for the scholarship ceremony this evening. I can’t hear his responses. His voice sounds mumbly through the door, but I can imagine what he’s saying based on Mom’s responses.

“Look into it?” Mom snaps. “You don’t need to look into it. My daughter already did that for you because she had no reason to believe that this school wasn’t going to cover their own ass instead of protecting their students. So you are going to remove this man from the campus immediately. I will wait.”

A knock comes from behind my left shoulder. When I turn, I see Ana staring at me through the office window. She locks eyes with me for a few long seconds. My heart flutters. It’s my girlfriend. In the flesh. She tilts her head to the side, indicating that I should come out to her. I glance at the door to the principal’s office, then head into the hall.

Ana’s leaning against the wall beside the office door. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I say.

“You did it,” she says, giving me a languid smile.

I go a little weak in the knees, even though I should maybe be used to her facial expressions at this point. “Couldn’t have done it without you,” I say. “How’d you distract Mr. B?”

“I told him that Brittany was having a crisis.”

“Good lie,” I say, nodding.

“Wasn’t a lie. I iced her into the dressing room with that Enduring Ice potion I took from your collection on Friday.” She shrugs. “Two birds, one stone.”

“You iced her, like . . .” I say hesitantly, hoping that Ana didn’t commit homicide by ice.

She snorts. “Like I iced the dressing room door shut. I didn’t kill her, Shay.”

“Okay. Good,” I say, and I give her a thumbs-up, because I’m apparently on a roll with the strangely timed thumbs-ups today.

She huffs out a laugh and grabs me by my other hand, pulling me closer to her. “I’m going to kiss you now,” she says. “Stop giving me a thumbs-up.”

“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m doing that,” I say as her nose brushes mine. And then we’re kissing. It tastes like victory.

“Have I told you that you’re a good kisser?” I say breathlessly when we break apart.