He said something behind me that I didn’t hear because I was immediately surrounded by the chaos of the school hallway and my music. For a moment I didn’t remember where I was supposed to be next. When Amelia joined me, I realized it was lunchtime.

“Have we ruled out Robert?” I asked, turning off my music.

“For dating again? Making out with? Talking to? I need some context here.”

“No, as Heath Hall.”

“We mentioned Robert as a possibility but decided he isn’t the putting-on-a-mask-in-a-public-place-for-attention type. Why?”

As we walked to our normal spot in the courtyard, I summarized my conversation with Heath Hall and my conversation with Robert a few minutes ago, including the quote he’d said. The same one from the other night.

“You’re still having private conversations with Heath Hall?”

“Yes.”

“So . . . you think it’s Robert?”

It didn’t make sense. Robert wasn’t in any way, shape, or form an artist, which was the only real clue I had about Heath Hall. I let out a long sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t care. I don’t know why I’m still thinking about this.”

“I don’t either. Our list was pretty much obliterated after almost all of them were at the museum, watching the events unfold. And you were able to talk to fake Heath about the pool thing. I thought you’d be over it.”

“I am.” I was. I was definitely going to be. We sat down at the table and I let my backpack slide to the ground next to me. “Oh! I keep forgetting to tell you.” I couldn’t believe I hadn’t told Amelia what my dad had said about Jackson yet. Amelia would tell me it wasn’t so bad. That Jackson wasn’t that horrible and that it meant nothing about how I would’ve gotten along with Eric.

“What happened?” she asked. “You look miserable.”

“Jackson.”

“I don’t understand. How did Jackson happen? Is that like a metaphor or something? Are we using Jackson as a verb now?”

I smiled. “I can think of several words where the name Jackson would fit perfectly in their place.”

She moved her eyebrows up and down. “I’m sure you can.”

I smacked her arm. “They would be bad words, not good ones.”

“So. Tell me how you got Jacksoned.”

“He squirmed his way into hanging out with me and my dad at the yogurt place.”

She grabbed my arm in faux horror. “How awful.”

“It was! He made my dad like him.”

She pulled out her bagged lunch. “How did he do that?”

“Basically he didn’t stop talking the entire time and told a million stories that made him sound funny and charming. I have a feeling this is all part of some elaborate joke he’s put together.”

She laughed. “Jackson flirting with you is part of a joke?”

“He wasn’t flirting.”