She reeled Taylor into a bear hug that took her, and the entire hall, by surprise. Kiera was taller than Taylor, seemed to yank her onto her tiptoes for the embrace, but there was no malice. Taylor hugged her back, and disappointed parties at the edge of the crowd dispersed, irritated as if they’d purchased expensive boxing tickets only to see the champ go down in the first round.

Kiera said, “I’ll walk you to homeroom.”

“They’re staring,” Taylor said.

“Let them.”

Kiera passed me and gave me a slight nod. In a less tense situation, this acknowledgment might have been the First Missionary Crew! high five, as had become the custom among us Purity Pledgers. Instead, she kept it moving . . . until she passed Mason at the hallway intersection. He got a fist bump.

Qwan said, “Yo, since when does Kiera fist-bump Mason?”

“Don’t know.”

“Should we be concerned?”

“Don’t know.”

My truncated answers did the trick; Qwan didn’t push. Instead, he utilized the best of his best friend instincts to swerve around the topic slightly. “I heard Mason be lying on his dick.”

Lying on your dick was a cardinal sin in Green Creek. The falsifying of sexual conquests. The fictionalizing of lovemaking statistics. It was a crime I was, technically, guilty of too, but my Shianne lie was mutual and consensual. Not like the story that got around eighth-grade year when Mason said he’d smashed April Benoit, and she said she didn’t even know him. I hadn’t heard of such infractions from Mason since, but I appreciated Qwan reminding me of dude’s darkest moment.

In English class I found myself eyeing the back of Mason’s head. Sizing him up. He was taller than me, slim, and clean-cut. He wore street clothes today, but in his JROTC uniform he looked like he could teach a class. I imagined Deacon and Deaconess Westing enjoying the company of someone who looked like him. He seemed like the kind of guy they’d be happy to see their daughter bring home. That twisted my stomach until I imagined Qwan beside me, specter-like, Obi-Qwan Kenobi to my Luke Skywalker, yelling, “Lies on his dick!”

After English, I fell into the established routine of asking MJ off-the-record sexual questions from the Purity Pledgers (except that one about feet, I vetoed that). He answered, with his usual reminder to keep it between us. Then got on with the rest of my day. By the time we got to Healthy Living, I felt more relaxed. Even though this was yet another class with Mason. Maybe it was because of the subtle adjustments MJ made to the topics.

Like in English, he let us know there were things we had to do. Even if it seemed dumb and unrelatable, like the session when he broke down “Social Gathering Safety Zones”—places you could go and not be tempted to have sex. The mall, or the movies, or an ice-cream shop.

You know what . . . the movies, sure. Me and Qwan did that plenty. The mall, though? Every one I’ve been to got age limits, and curfew restrictions, and scared security guards who’re ready to Tase you for walking in groups of three or more without a chaperone. At least that’s how it was for the black kids. I’d seen white boys looking like a whole soccer team get a smile and nod from the mall cops.