Christopher thrashes, and Taylor’s got his shoulders pushed down in the snow. I dive in, trying to pull Taylor’s arm, get a grip on his coat, and I slide sideways and land hard on my elbow and kick away out from under their struggling bodies, scrambling back. Nevaeh catches my hand and helps me upright, Katherine close at my back. She says something, but I can’t make it out. Other students have gathered around, and it’s a general roar of voices where everyone is shouting something and no one can hear one another until there’s Mr. Banerjee, his deep voice cracking through the air and breaking Taylor and Christopher apart, panting, covered in snow, groping their way to their feet.

“What is going on?” Mr. Banerjee asks, his eyebrows scrunching down low under his beanie.

“We were wrestling,” Christopher says. He’s panting. He slaps Taylor on the back.

“Yeah,” Taylor says flatly, yanking down the hem of his coat. “Friendly wrestling.”

Christopher spreads his hands wide. “And you’ll be glad to know he started it.”

Taylor jolts at that but doesn’t say anything.

Mr. Banerjee shakes his head, a sharp jerk, a sweep of his hand like he’s done with them. “Jhang. Davenport. You’ll be hearing from the dean. Back to your dorm. Now.”

Christopher is smirking, and Taylor’s eyes are narrow, furious. His shoulder is stiff when I touch him, try to guide him back over to us.

“Yes, sir,” Christopher says, brushing snow off his coat. He wiggles his eyebrows at me as he leaves, because of course he does.

“Jhang?” Mr. Banerjee says.

“We’ll walk him back,” I say. “It was my fault.”

Katherine takes Taylor’s hand, and I slip my hand around his elbow and squeeze, and he is rigid and furious. Nevaeh stalks next to us, sputtering. “The nerve. That creep. That absolute asshole.”

“So that’s cleared up,” Taylor says. “He’s sending dick pics. And now I’ve gotten a second strike.”

I stop on the wet sidewalk. His second strike—that means one more and he’s out. One more demerit—a mark on your record—and he is literally out. As in expelled. So if we get caught sneaking out after curfew …

“You can’t do the show,” I say to him.

“No,” Nevaeh says. “Oh no.”

“Of course I can,” he says to me, irritated, then mutters, “I’m freezing.”

“There is no way in hell you’re risking getting kicked out,” I say urgently.

He frowns at me and gestures toward the dorm. “Can we go?”

“Your NYU acceptance,” I say, furious, my voice louder. “If you get expelled—”

He closes his eyes. Shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry,” I say.