Henry’s brows lift a fraction, but his voice sounds completely respectful, earnest when he says, “I won’t let it happen again, Dr. Walsh.”

“I certainly hope not.” Julie sniffs. “You can go to your seat now.”

As Henry turns around, his dark eyes search the room, then lock on mine. My mouth goes dry, a violent bolt of anger and something else I can’t quite name flashing through me. Now he’s decided to acknowledge my presence? I glare at him with all the force I can muster, and—to my surprise—he holds my gaze, as if trying to convey something meaningful without moving his hands or his lips. Clearly, this boy has overestimated my ability to read minds.

I jerk my shoulder in the universal I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-saying gesture, and he frowns. Drags a hand through his messy, crow-black hair. Opens his mouth—

“Is something the matter over there?” Julie calls. It’s a known fact around the school that the chirpier Julie Walsh’s voice gets, the angrier she is.

And she sounds very chirpy right now.

Henry must hear it too, because he quickly slides into his usual seat at the opposite end of the room. I’m not even sure when that started happening—us sitting as far away from each other as possible in every classroom. If it was something intentional, or if perhaps we work like magnets, with some kind of invisible field automatically pushing us apart wherever we go.

But for the first time, I hate the distance between us. What was he trying to tell me? And why was he late?

I can barely keep still for the rest of class. Even as the classroom lights dim and the projector flickers on again, more images of starving, unsmiling children flashing over the screen like phantoms, I can’t stop peering over at where Henry is sitting, trying to search his face for clues. And more than once, I catch him looking at me too.

The second the bell rings, Henry strides over to my desk.

“Can we talk?” he asks. The dark circles under his eyes are even more prominent up close, yet there’s no trace of exhaustion in the way he’s carrying himself, his chin lifted and his back straight as an arrow, or the crisp inflection of his tone.

“Um. Right here?”

The thing is, I want to talk, I’m dying to, but I’m all too aware of the kids around us slowing their footsteps, the curious glances they’re sending our way. Everyone knows Henry and I are sworn enemies, and even if we weren’t, Henry has never approached anyone in class before. He doesn’t need to; people have a way of gravitating toward him.

“Maybe somewhere more...private,” he concedes, seeming to realize the issue. He shoots a look at Bobby Yu, who’s lurking around my desk, and Bobby quickly ducks his head and hurries away, textbooks tucked under his beanpole arms.

Then, without another word, Henry spins around on his heel and heads out through the classroom door, leaving me no choice but to follow.