They reached the south entrance, and Joanna swung her bag off her shoulder and set it on the low wall at the base of the stairs. She looked in, separating her textbooks and notebooks, and came out with a slim black address book. Still not looking at Alice she opened it and flipped through, then reached in again for a pen. She folded down a corner of one of the address book’s back pages, tore it off, and carefully wrote the 212 number on the scrap of paper and handed it to Alice. Her face looked clear, and Alice could see an open smile in her eyes.

Alice smiled but worried that too wide a smile would scuttle the deal. She turned it into a nod, folded the little piece of paper, and worried about where to put it so it wouldn’t get lost. She took off her own bag and slid the number into the inside sleeve of the spiral notebook she used for English and Spanish.

Joanna turned and walked into the Schoolhouse. Alice could feel the secret slip of paper in her bag as her legs propelled her back to her dorm, where she was twenty minutes late for her meeting with Ms. Corbierre.

Alice got ready for Seated that night feeling full of hope. She had a test the next day in Spanish but she was ready for it.

At Seated, though, everyone’s eyes seemed to stop on Alice for a moment longer than usual, and at the table the conversation seemed only half about itself. Alice left the Dish as soon as the table was excused, and when she got back to her room, someone had written on their whiteboard:

DON’T DO IT, ALICE!!!!

Sincerely,

The devoted males of St. James School

Alice wiped off the whiteboard, went into the room, and lay down on the bed without turning on any lights.

“Sure, I’ve thought about leaving.”

She snapped a photo of Ben.

“How come?”

“Well,” she said, “you’re not going to be surprised when I say I think a lot of people are trying to look at my chest.” Ben blushed up from his neck and laughed, but she shrugged. “And that obviously makes”—snap—“me pretty uncomfortable, and”—snap—“so I think people”—snap—“can tell how uncomfortable I am.”

Ben started nodding. She took two more photos of him.

“I mean, why do you want to be friends with me?” she asked with a sudden hardness.

Ben blushed again, harder this time, and now even twisted slightly away from her on his chair. She took another photo.

“I like talking with you,” he said. “We talk about things I can’t talk about with anyone else.”

“Really? Is that really why?”