The back of my neck prickles. I never said anything about being a decade older. That’s the same age as the Voice. Why is he picturing what I’ll be like ten years from now?

Flaming monkeys. What if Bandit is the Virus Maker?

I suppress a shudder. Ridiculous. I can’t go around suspecting every student at this school. My brain will explode before lunch.

Except…part of me feels like that’s exactly what I should be doing.

“What makes you think I’ll settle in Thailand?” I ask, struggling to keep my tone casual.

A grin bisects his face. “Because we have the best-looking people. Didn’t you know?”

I snort. Right. Should’ve seen that one coming.

“Okay, easier question.” He gestures to my backpack. “Why do you have a map of the world on your bag?” He moves closer and squints. “And what are those? Stars that you’ve inked in with a pen?”

“Those are all the places I want to visit.” This is better. Dream travel I can always talk about. “One of these days, I’m going to backpack across the world, to see firsthand all the animals and natural wonders and cultures featured in National Geographic.”

“There must be a hundred stars on here!”

“I add a few more every week,” I confess. “Sometimes I worry that’s all they’ll ever be: just some symbols on a backpack.”

I regret the words as soon as they come out of my mouth. A couple of volleyball players walk by, ponytails swishing, and a gangly guy, more limbs than torso, sends Bandit one of those head nods. The buzz of conversation swirls around us, more excited than usual because it’s the last day of school before spring break.

Our ten minutes must be nearly up, but I don’t want him to leave yet. My skin feels itchy, like I’ve given up too much of myself. I need to even the scales, if only for my own pride.

“Your turn,” I say quickly. “Tell me something you’ve never told anybody else.”

He lifts his brows in what I’m beginning to think of as his signature look—superior and oh so uninterested. “I don’t know who taught you about conversation, but that’s not the way it works.”

“Oh, come on.” I extend my arm, intending to punch him lightly, but he closes his hand around my fist in midair. And holds it.

My heart flutters, and my head is rather…floaty. His hand is warm. And big. He hangs on to my fist for another beat and then releases it. I’m having a difficult time finding enough oxygen.

“Tell me about your name,” I whisper. “You said you didn’t want me to call you Bandit. Why?”