Involuntary laughter bubbles through my nose and out of my mouth. I snort, trying to stop myself from spraying apple everywhere. Cool, real cool.

“Thanks for the sympathy,” he says.

“Hey, I’m lactose intolerant. I can’t eat most pizza either.”

“Dude, I feel your pain.” He raises a fist and I bump it.

Dude. Even though I know it probably means nothing, it still gives me a rush of the warm fuzzies. Guess the baggy button-downs and chest-flattening sports bras are working the way I want them to.

“We have math together, right?” he asks.

Oh gods, he’s noticed me. I nod, struggling to breathe, waiting for him to realize I’m a waste of space he shouldn’t bother with.

Dark curls fall across his eyes and he flips them away with a jerk of his head. “Here to do some silent reading?”

Okay, here it comes—the snark, the jibes. I knew it.

Taika the Talentless, the little voice coos at the back of my mind.

“Why are you here?” I bite out instead.

“I love libraries. All that knowledge.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m hoping I might absorb some of it just by being here, like how some sea creatures suck in food from the water without having to eat.”

“Um, you mean like osmosis?” I say because my treacherous brain doesn’t know how to not be a know-it-all.

“That’s it!” Morgan claps his hands. “Such great acoustics. And osmosis. Such a cool word. Imagine being able to learn like that.” He pulls over a discarded book—Ancient Norse Sorcery—and rests his forehead on the cover while making slurping noises.

“Is it working?” I ask, still not entirely sure whether this interaction is going to leave me bruised.

“Nope.” Morgan pouts again. “But the acoustics are awesome, and the wooden floors are brilliant.” He swings his feet off the table to kick his board back and forth, apparently appreciating the noisy echoes. “So, why are you really here in the middle of the day?” He narrows his eyes. He must be wearing mascara too; his eyelashes are so long and full.

I take a moment, appreciating his makeup skills while searching his gray-green eyes for any sign of malevolence.

“Today’s been all kinds of awful,” I admit, still wary. “I thought coming here might help.” That and maybe I’d be struck by inspiration and figure out the perfect story for the Messenger that’ll see Sini stuck on the back page.

“And has it?” he asks.

My phone shrills and I grab it, hoping it’s Natalie. It’s not—just a message in the journalism chat reminding everyone about the meeting this afternoon. As if I could flipping forget.

“Bad news?” Morgan asks.

“I need an article for the school paper.”

“Hm…” He drums his heels on the skateboard. “Hey! I could be your story.”