“So … who are you hiding from?” I ask reluctantly, wishing desperately that this nook had a door I could lock. It’s not that I don’t like Moses—it’s that Moses reminds me too much of myself, and that’s a real bummer to be around sometimes.

“Principal Stevens.”

“Wait, what?”

Moses lifts his head and leans forward.

“I don’t think I’m going to get in trouble for it,” he whispers, “but Tyler was making fun of me and then he and Caleb got into this huge fight—”

“Caleb Michaels?” I interrupt, my breath caught in my throat.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Tyler was being Tyler and Caleb just decked him. And, I mean, Stevens broke it up pretty quickly, but there was blood all over the floor. It was nuts.”

“Oh my god,” I murmur, trying to imagine quiet, beautiful Caleb hitting someone. I guess that’s what football teaches you.

“I know.” Moses nods. “That’s the first time there’s been a fight that bad in years. I don’t even wanna think about what their punishment is gonna be.”

3

CALEB

Sitting next to a bleeding, pissed-off Tyler outside of Principal Stevens’s office was bad enough, but sitting in this unfamiliar waiting room alone, waiting for the ax to fall, is torture. Things could have been way worse at school—all we got was a one-day suspension and we have to clean all the science labs for the rest of the semester (though not together, thank god)—but somehow, this entire messed-up situation has led to me sitting here, in a therapist’s waiting room. It’s eerily quiet, the muted walls and low light making me forget what time of day it is. I begged off when my dad asked me if I wanted him to come in with me, but now I’m wishing he was here. I need something to focus on other than the dread of what this is going to be like and how stiff this couch is.

The office door groans open and a petite, perfectly dressed woman steps out. She looks a bit like the waiting room—simple and subdued.

“Caleb Michaels?” she calls, her voice soft but strong.

“Uh, yeah.” I stand up, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. “That’s me.”

“Come on in, Caleb.” She steps to the side, ushering me into the room.

“Please, take a seat,” she says, gesturing to the couch, which thankfully has more pillows than the waiting room. It’s lighter in here—daylight streaming in from the window—and I move cautiously toward the couch, sitting awkwardly. Am I supposed to lie down? Is that something that people still do?

“My name is Dr. Bright,” she says as she sits in the chair opposite me. “I’m very glad you’ve come to see me.”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “I mean, I didn’t exactly choose to be here.”