This wasn’t the end of the world. He had an A average in every single class, including this one. Getting a less than perfect score on one test wasn’t going to kill him.

But it was definitely going to piss him off. His GPA was everything. He wasn’t rolling in money, so he needed scholarships if he wanted to go away to school.

He could imagine the college rejection letters now. After learning that one kiss and a sleepless night led you to fail a test, we have decided you are no longer a fit for our institution . . .

The bell rang, and Nick snapped his head up. Students started shoving books into backpacks and pushing for the exit.

Holy shit. He still had seven questions left.

He kept writing, scribbling fast. The room cleared before he was halfway through the next problem. His thoughts were so scattered that he wasn’t sure he was tackling the question correctly.

“Nick.” Dr. Cutter appeared beside his desk, tapping a finger on the plastic surface. His voice was gentle but carried an air of finality. “Time is up, I’m afraid.”

Nick didn’t stop writing. “One minute?”

Dr. Cutter didn’t say anything for a long moment, but Nick felt his concern in the air.

Finally, he put a hand on Nick’s wrist, stilling his writing. “Did you not understand the material?” he said. “I wish you had come to me earlier this week—”

“No.” This was pointless. Nick put his pencil down and rubbed at his eyes. “I understood it.”

The teacher picked up the test and flipped through the pages. “You’ve missed the entire last section.”

Like he didn’t know that. Nick focused on the pencil, wishing he could stab it straight through his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to study. I kept mixing up the formulas.”

Dr. Cutter sat down at the desk beside him. “Is something going on at home?”

Nick knew this voice. He’d heard it twelve dozen times since his parents died. While teachers and counselors had learned to steer clear of Gabriel’s temper, they knew they could seek answers from Nick. Are you okay? Are you getting enough to eat? Is your brother doing enough to take care of you?

But he was seventeen now, and way too old to get a pass for something like that.

Especially when failing this test had nothing to do with problems at home, and everything to do with one dark-haired dancer.

God, you’re obsessed.

“No,” he said. “Home’s fine. Really.”

Dr. Cutter wasn’t convinced. “Girlfriend?”

Nick looked at him. “I’m okay. Just tired.”

“This is a unit test. If you fail, you’ll have to get someone from home to sign it.”

Michael probably wouldn’t be angry, but he’d definitely want an explanation. That was almost worse.

So, Michael, there’s this guy . . .