Clutching some papers in front of him, he cleared his throat and said, “So, the book I picked is Factions of Fire, part nine in bestselling author Ron Shapiro’s Jack Jake series. A little backstory: Jack Jake is an ex–Green Beret, Navy SEAL, CIA operative on the run from homegrown terrorists that have taken over . . .”

Lacey Bishop’s grin slipped away. She was new to Green Creek, barely here a year. She didn’t know about Mason’s obsession with the Jack Jake books. She was going to learn today.

Zoning through Mason’s lengthy recap, and the next two presentations, I thought about the least awkward way to approach MJ at class change. My palms were sweating, and I considered abandoning the whole plan until the bell dinged through the PA and I was still zoning, so none of my books were packed and ready. Everyone beat me out of the room, leaving MJ right there at the front, alone.

“MJ?”

He swiped the eraser along the whiteboard, cutting wide arcs through all the topics we’d halfway discussed today. “Del, you’re still here.”

“Yes. I kinda gotta ask you something.”

“About the Ellison reading?” He finished cleaning the board, sat on the desk’s edge.

“Naw, it’s not about English. It’s about the other class.”

“The other—oh. Right.” He scanned the room, maybe making sure we were alone, and that brief hesitation made me want to sprint away. I held my ground.

This better be worth it, Jameer.

“I need to know about dreams. Sexy ones,” I blurted.

“What about them?”

Shit. What about them? Jameer hadn’t specified anything, and I didn’t think to clarify. I tugged a pen and notepad from my bag to make sure I got everything I could, because I was never asking about this again. “I guess, whatever, you know. Like, are they normal?”

“Sexy dreams? I assume you’re referring to the kind that trigger a physical response.”

“Yeah.” My stomach got fluttery, and I focused on a specific brick on a nearby wall.

“The technical term for what you’re referring to is nocturnal emissions. Though I’m sure you’re aware of the more common term.”

I nodded so he didn’t have to say it.

“If you’re experiencing them—”

“This ain’t for me.”

Quick nods. “Sure. Of course.”

“I mean, for real. It’s not for me.”

“Of course.”

My shirt was sticky. Sticky. We were talking about wet dreams and I was thinking of being sticky. Ugh! Had to hurry this up. “Can you tell me anything else about them?”

I was deep in it now, and Jameer would not accuse me of half-assing.

“They’re the result of the hormone levels in your—I mean anyone’s—body changing around the start of puberty. You’re producing testosterone, and semen, and when you’re sleeping the body’s doing some test runs to make sure the plumbing’s working, so to speak. Ejaculation is the result.”

Oh God, he said “ejaculation.” Scribbling fast and furious, I asked, “Girls don’t have them?”

“They can. It’s not as common and doesn’t have the exact same result. Obviously.”