“Well, the sanitizer is because I know entirely too much about the germs that get passed between people.” As if to demonstrate, he douses his hands, rubbing the formula over each and every finger, so thoroughly that I wonder if I should feel insulted. “And what would-be doctor doesn’t carry around a first aid kit?”

Plenty, I want to say. A quarter of our class must be premed, and I don’t see anyone else with emergency supplies.

But I don’t. He’ll make a good doctor, with or without the advantages that his parents can buy him. He has the brilliance to pioneer medical breakthroughs, a superior but utterly engaging bedside manner. He’ll have legions of patients in love with him.

I can just picture it—maybe too clearly.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt before I can dwell on the image.

His lips sober. “I heard the news about Lalana. I was looking for her, to see if she was okay, when I saw you running past, your face as green as the frog I dissected in bio last year.”

I grimace. Yep, that’s me. An American tree frog, small and green and easily frightened. More to the point, why does he care so much about Lalana? Because they’re family friends? Or because…he’s the one sending her creepy love letters?

“You followed me because you thought I would lead you to Lalana?”

He blinks. “No, Alice,” he says slowly. “I followed you because you looked like you were going to throw up. And guess what? You did.”

He takes a flat white box out of his backpack. Aw, hell, he wasn’t kidding. He really does have a first aid kit. I watch, mesmerized, as he rips the corner of an alcohol wipe. And then he reaches for my collar and proceeds to rub at a stain.

I go perfectly still as my brain scrambles. Do I smell like vomit? I must. Does he notice?

Awareness snaps into the air. I register every motion, every nuance. The crease between his eyebrows. The way his fingertips scrape against my collarbone. The mere inches that separate us. He’s standing so close that if I lifted my mouth, we could be kissing.

As soon as the thought pops into my head, I have to force myself not to look up.

I clear my throat—almost desperately. “You, uh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I can’t have you walking around with these pathogens on you.” He continues to scrub at the spot. “You’re like a first-class incubator for germs.”

Right. Pathogens. Germs.

This is not a seduction of any sort. Wooing me is the furthest thing from this guy’s mind.

“Maybe I’ll just burn the shirt,” I say weakly. “Scorch these germs out of existence.”

He looks right into my eyes. “I don’t want you to get any sicker.”