“What did I do?” Jackson asked, and I realized I was staring. I could feel the scowl on my face and I quickly smoothed it back to uninterested.

“Nothing. See you later, Ms. Lin.”

“Wait up,” Jackson called as I left the classroom.

I walked faster but he still caught up with me. I gave myself a mental pep talk. I could be nice to Jackson. He was a nice guy. He was just helping Ms. Lin. That’s what nice guys did. “I thought you were moving easels.”

“I’m finished. She only had a few for me to stack today.”

“Lucky me.”

“So I have a serious question for you.”

Did Jackson know how to be serious? “I’m listening.”

“Was Amelia your ride home?”

“Um . . . yes. Why?” I turned to him, now wary.

“Because isn’t that her?” He pointed to the street, where I saw her yellow car, its tiny blinker going on and off, indicating she was turning left.

Why was she leaving me? I’d told her I needed to drop off my schedule and that it would only be a minute. She took longer than me in the locker room, so it shouldn’t have been a problem even if it had been more like fifteen minutes. “Did you tell her to leave me?”

Jackson’s eyes twinkled in amusement. “Why would I do that?”

“Why do you do anything?” I said more to myself, then pulled out my phone to see ten texts littering my screen. All from Amelia.

The light turned green and she turned. I called her but she didn’t answer.

“You’re in luck, Moore. I can drive you.”

“That’s okay. I’ll walk.”

“You’d rather walk than let me drive you?”

That did sound kind of stupid, but I wanted to answer yes. It was only two miles away.

“My car is dying to drive you home. This has nothing to do with me. You wouldn’t deny my car what it wants, right? It just got out of the shop.”

“Why was your car in the shop?”

“My friend thought it would be funny to see what would happen if he put milk in the gas tank. I probably don’t have to tell you that it did not end well.”

I laughed.

“Oh, now you laugh.”

“I just think it’s funny when you’re on the other end of pranks for once.”

“My life was endangered.”

I laughed again. “Milk is noncombustible. I’m sure it screwed up your car but you were safe.”

“You know about cars?”

“Not really.” Not like my brother. He and my dad had restored his truck from the engine block up. I knew my dad missed talking cars with someone, so sometimes I would humor him. “Do you?”

“Not a thing.”

This thought relieved me. It was a way he wasn’t like Eric.

“This makes you happy, for some reason? Do you hate cars?”