Before I know it, the bell is ringing and another class has gone by without me writing a single thing down. Crap. Hopefully I can borrow Caitlin’s notes. That might be a good perk of going out with her. Is that what we’re doing now? Does saying yes to a dance mean we’re dating? I have no idea how this works and there’s no way I’m talking to the team about it, so I guess I’ll just have to wing it. The thought makes me want to run away and hide somewhere.

“Mr. Michaels.” Mr. Collins’s voice calls me over as I walk toward the door.

“Yeah?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Um.” I rack my brain for what the hell he could be talking about. “Have a good day?” I try.

“Your Macbeth essay,” he offers, understanding that I’m not trying to be fresh, I genuinely don’t know what he’s talking about. “I gave you the weekend, but you need to turn it in.”

“Oh, right.” I exhale, reaching into my bag. “I totally blanked. Here you go.”

I hand him the essay, self-conscious that it’s a few pages thinner than it should be, despite the fact that he gave me an extension. He takes it from me, but the eyebrows don’t lower. Uh-oh, orange pulse of concern is back.

“Is everything all right, Mr. Michaels?” he asks. Jeez, he sounds so sincere. This guy cares way too much. It’s nice but it’s also a lot.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I shrug.

“It’s just that you seemed a little distracted in class today.” He frowns, leaning back against his desk and folding his arms across his chest. The pulse grows stronger and reaches out to me like a hug. But like a hug from your distant, maybe not-even-really-related elderly aunt who hugs you too long and too tight and asks you too many, too personal questions.

“Did I?” I ask unconvincingly.

“Well, can you tell me the main themes we’ll be looking for in The Aeneid?” he asks, raising his eyebrows even further as he gives me a skeptical look. Those things are going to disappear fully into his hair any second now.

“Um…” I stall, rubbing the back of my neck and looking toward the door, hoping I’ll spot a fire in the hallway or something. “… the hero’s journey?”

“Nice guess,” he allows, the concern momentarily distracted by amusement, “but that’s not what we were talking about and we both know it. What’s going on, Caleb?”

Oh boy, there’s the first name again. That’s not a good sign.

“Nothing,” I tell him, shaking my head a little too vigorously. The eyebrows crease toward each other. “I’m just—I’m a little distracted.”

“I saw Caitlin talking to you before class. Did she do something to upset you?”