At my locker, Qwan stayed at my side, giving me a running report of all new info.

“Angie Bell is catching it,” Qwan said, swiping and scrolling. “There are like eight different versions of what she did this weekend. ‘Angie knew Colossus’s people were out of town and showed up at his house in nothing but a trench coat.’ ‘Angie saw Colossus at the Sonic Drive-In, climbed in his backseat.’ ‘Angie has always been into Colossus, and wore him down after he had a fight with Kiera.’”

He kept going, kept indicting Angie. Everybody liked Kiera. So, what happened to the girl who did her dirty? All the girl hate got aimed at her.

Qwan said, “The comments, bro.”

I could imagine, but didn’t have to. Neck-deep in my locker, excavating for my books, I heard a shady, cough-shout, “THOT!”

That Ho Over There.

I turned around as Angie passed us. Head down, face mean. A bunch of people laughed so I couldn’t tell which asshole said it. People took it too far going at her like that. Way I saw it, I owed Angie Bell a fro-yo.

Qwan’s head swiveled with her, leering, tracking her movements until she turned the corner. He said, “It’s amazing how you be around someone for months and never notice their inner beauty.”

“Oh my God.” I knew where this was going. I slammed my locker, and we joined the foot traffic to class. Approaching from the opposite direction was Antoinette Petrie, who was low-key hot in her tight sweaters and bright green glasses. She was a current Qwan work-in-progress.

“Nettie, you get my DM?” Qwan said.

She giggled. “You wild, Qwan.”

“All I’m saying is we should hang.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Then she was gone, and with the attention span of a hummingbird, he flitted back to the previous subject. “Anyway, Angie. I hear she’s got a sensual soul. Real deep.”

“Never use the word ‘deep’ like that around me again.”

“I’m trying to appeal to your delicate nature, D. If you want the real . . .”

Qwan began a rapid-fire, triple-X version of what supposedly transpired over the weekend. Information that couldn’t possibly be accurate, though when has that stopped anybody at Green Creek. He was still telling me about what Angie did, what Angie could do, and what Angie invented (like something called a “Yorktown Pancake Bend” that involved syrup and tremendous dexterity) in excited whispers as we took our seats in social studies. While our teacher wrote on the whiteboard, he continued his recap on sheets of loose-leaf with crude stick figure drawings.

I was happy for a break during English—my favorite class, with my favorite teacher, Mister Jay, aka “MJ”—because Qwan’s schedule differed from mine until lunch. By then, his perv battery had run low, and he moved on to the day’s other significant topic. Healthy Living. We both had our signed permission slips.

“Why you think they’re all parental approval with it this time?” I asked.