I run a finger over the paper on my desk and glance over my shoulder, catching Mona’s wide eyes. She tilts her head, silently urging me to open the note. I jerk back around and eye Mrs. Clay cautiously. When she turns to the chalkboard to write something about Charles Dickens, I slide one fingernail under a fold in the letter and ease it open as quietly as possible.

Kimba, I think you’re so pretty and smart. Will you go with me to the dance?

Yes

No

Jeremy

The dance is in two weeks, celebrating the end of middle school and sending us off in style to summer and ninth grade. Mona, Ezra and I are all going, but none of us have dates.

I glance back over my shoulder at Mona, and a mischievous grin hangs between her cheeks like a hammock.

“Oh my God,” I mouth to her, my eyes stretched.

“I know,” she mouths back, nodding enthusiastically.

A long arm reaches across the aisle and snatches the note. I gasp, grabbing to take the paper back from Ezra, but he turns his lanky body slightly away from me, grinning and batting away my hands. Mrs. Clay suddenly turns around, probably alerted by the small noises I made. Ezra and I instantly go still and inconspicuous. Her narrowed eyes scan the class row by row, but after a few seconds, she turns back to the chalkboard and resumes the lesson.

Ezra’s grin fades as he reads, melting away by centimeters. A frown squeezes between his brows. He places the paper back onto my desk, slumps in his chair and starts scribbling in the margins of his notebook. The words are in Hebrew so I have no idea what he’s writing, but he presses so hard the pencil dents the paper.

“Ez.” My voice comes out like a hissing cat, low and irritated. “Don’t read my stuff.”

“Since when?” he mumbles, not bothering to look up, his wide mouth sulky. His shoulders are parentheses, bowed, bracketing his body like they’re holding him together. “We’ve never kept secrets from each other. I thought you and Mona were just playing around. I didn’t know it was…”