I’m so preoccupied with looking for Julian that I forget to go to my new social studies class after lunch. I get all the way to the old classroom and sit down at my desk before I realize my mistake, and I have to ask Mrs. Schad for a pass to find my new class. I feel like a dolt.

I have to knock on the door to get into the new room. “The counselor changed my schedule,” I say, handing the pass to the teacher. “I’m in this class now.”

“Welcome, welcome! I’m Mrs. Nguyen. We’re just getting ready to do some study questions in small groups. Join wherever you see space,” she says, gesturing to the room.

I hate it when teachers say to find a space. Do I sit next to a quiet person? Do I sit in the front? What if the person I choose to sit near doesn’t want company? I use a sneakered foot to scratch at my ankle and lose my balance a little bit. A few kids in the front of the room snicker.

I see a hand raise toward the back of the room. It’s Julian. “Elijah,” he says, pointing to the empty desk next to his. “You can sit here.”

My stomach stops bubbling over. “Thanks,” I say, settling into the seat and taking out a fresh sheet of notebook paper. “They had me in a freshman geography class. What are we working on?”

“Causes of the Civil War,” Julian says, showing me the study guide. “Here, pull your desk up next to mine and then we can share the guide. I’ll work on the even numbers and you take the odd. Then we can just share answers.”

I scoot my desk up close to his, and he puts the study guide over the tiny crack between the two desks. We work silently for a few minutes, each scratching lengthy answers on our respective pieces of paper. I catch myself looking at Julian’s handwriting while I’m supposed to be reading question number five. His l’s start with a little flourish, and his a’s are round and neat.

“What is it?” he asks, catching me looking at his paper. “Did I get one wrong?”

“Oh, um… no. I think it’s good. Your answers, I mean.”

We fall back into a comfortable silence. When Julian leans over to read the next question, he’s close enough that I can smell his hair. Something minty. His knee touches mine under the desk, and it takes a second before he moves it away. A jolt of heat reaches up my thigh and settles low in my gut.

“I… um… I didn’t see you at lunch today,” I say, pretending to study the questions in the guide between us.

“Oh. Didn’t know you were looking,” he says, not looking up from his pencil.