“Watch yourself, kiddo. We have a relationship outside of school, but part of the condition of my being your homeroom teacher, as you know, is that you don’t cross the line.”

He’s referring to the fact that I begged for Pete to be my teacher and agreed to any conditions, not that my mom cared either way—namely that I would not be overly familiar or informal with Pete, and that I would accept his authority as my teacher. And until now, I always abided by these. But things are different now. Everything is different. But something bubbles up inside me and it comes out like a mumbled apology. I’m looking in my lap and noticing there is a long pen smudge on my jeans.

“Stevie, look at me.”

I do. He looks tired. There are bags under his eyes, and he needs a haircut.

“I don’t want you lashing out or getting into trouble for attention. Are the other kids bothering you? If there is anything wrong, I want you to know that I’m always here, okay?”

“Yeah, except you’re not.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing,” I grumble.

“No, what do you mean?”

“Fine. You act like you’re all clued in, like you know what’s going on with young people, but you are so out of touch, you have no idea. I mean, do you even know me? Do you even know Lottie?”

“I like to think I do, yes, although sure, I’ll grant you that sometimes teenagers are a bit of a mystery to everyone.”

“Well, she’s totally different. I’m totally different. And you never even noticed.”

“That is not true, Stevie.” He puts his hand on my arm briefly. “Hey,” he says gently, “you don’t need to be tough, okay?”

I feel my lip quivering. No. I will not let him get in my head only to give me some pat on the head and then leave me to the wolves. I need to shut him out and be strong on my own. I look out the window, lift my eyes to the blue sky so the tears won’t gather in my eyes.

“I wanted to talk to you because you seem different. I’m concerned about you.”

I say nothing, but return his gaze with a hard stare. He sighs, seeing that I’m not giving him an inch.

“Try and stay out of trouble. It’s not worth it. I don’t want to have to call your mom in here,” he says.

I scoff.

“She loves you. And so do I.”