Carter dug through the rat, coughing each time he accidentally inhaled toxic fumes.

“I’ve never been objectified to my face before,” he said, still on Madison. “It was weird, dude. I dunno. Made me nauseous. Trapped in my own skin.” He shuddered.

“Sorry, dude.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Oops.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“Thanks, bro. You can start by taking pics of all these. Need to label them for our notebooks.”

While Carter performed neurosurgery, I played with my camera’s lighting settings. I was up for anything, though, besides fessing up. I couldn’t tell Carter about why I was helping Madison date him without getting what was in it for me.

“Let me make it up to you,” I said. “How ’bout neither of us walks out with girls at the fashion thing tonight. We can do the catwalk together.”

I reached for a fist bump. Carter returned it. “Nothing you have to make up for, though you got it, buddy.”

“Maybe all the times Austin and I have objectified you behind your back,” I joked.

“That’s okay,” said Carter. “I know you guys are jealous of my fire bod.”

“Who isn’t?”

Carter focused back on the rat and I snapped pics of him operating, ready to make a killing when he became a famous surgeon.

I knew I had to make it up to Carter with more than jokes, since he did genuinely seem really upset by this. I didn’t really get why, but that was beside the point. From the air in my lungs to my below-average heart rate, I didn’t want Eliza to ever feel like Carter had. It would be all or nothing with that girl. I was going to have to commit. Especially if we were ever going to get Carter’s blessing. It was my senior year, but I vowed that if Eliza O’Connor were my first high school girlfriend, she would also be my last.

Despite Carter’s pushback about objectification, at 7:00 p.m. sharp, I posed outside Cassidy High’s auditorium, ready to debut my tuxedo to a live audience. I had a black jacket, white shirt, and yellow everything else. Straight fire.

“Selfie time!” Hannah Green grabbed me out of nowhere, sticking her pink phone in my face. Other fashionable participants passed by, also taking selfies, which I actually can’t remember ever not being a thing.

“Nick Maguire, you are unbelievable. Do it again without sticking your tongue out.”

A sunny laugh came from behind us. Tingles flared on my skin—I’d have known that laugh from anywhere.

“I want one.” Eliza placed her hand on my back. My arm rested around the waist of her long, yellow dress, the fabric softer than Carter’s favorite fleece blanket. I flashed Hannah’s camera a rock star smile.

“Sure, now you do a normal one,” Hannah teased. “Hey, you guys match!”

Eliza gave me a high five. Our yellows were exactly the same color. Which I had maybe, maybe not, done on purpose. “Represent.”