“Well . . . that’s the only way you could have found this place.”

This made no sense. Why was she talking about the janitor’s closet like she knew what it was?

“How do I know you haven’t been following me?” Héctor finally said, once he was able to make his mouth work again. “Maybe that’s how you found this place. You followed me, you watched me go in here, and you just . . . beat me to it today.”

She was already shaking her head. “Nah. Not possible, bruh.”

“And why not?” He took another step toward her.

She took one toward him. “Because only I know about this place.”

He took a step closer. “Well, that’s clearly impossible, because here I am.”

Another step closer. “I was here first.”

“But were you?” Héctor asked. “When was the first time you went inside the janitor’s closet?”

Her face crinkled up at that. “Inside the what?”

“The janitor’s closet,” he said again. Now, they were maybe a foot from one another. She was taller than him by a few inches. Her hair was gorgeous, and he loved the way that she matched her red Jordans with the two red barrettes that held her puffs in place. She’s got style, he thought.

“It’s not a closet,” she insisted, crossing her arms. “It’s a bathroom.”

He threw his hands up in the air. “No, it’s not! The door literally says JANITOR on it! In all caps!”

“It’s the teachers’ bathroom right next to the drama room!” Now her own hands were up in the air in frustration.

He froze.

Took a few steps away from her.

“Next to the what?”

She frowned at Héctor. “The . . . the drama room?” Her voice was finally uncertain. “You know, where the drama club meets?”

Bumps rose on his skin.

No. No, he hadn’t heard that.

“Pinch me,” he muttered.

“What?” She grimaced. “Why would I do that?”

“Something is wrong,” Héctor said, and his head spun. His center of balance seemed to disappear, and he pitched toward the couch on his right. He caught himself on the back of it, then lowered himself into a seat.

She came around to stand in front of him. “Yeah, just like I said! You’re in my room.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he said, shaking his head. “What you said is impossible.”

“There you go using that word again,” she said, her hands on her hips.

Héctor tried not to scream. “Because we don’t have a drama club.”

He watched confusion spread over her face.

“Yes . . . yes, we do,” she said, her voice so terribly quiet.

It was happening to her, too, the same thing that was going on in his head.

“What’s your name?” he asked. “Mine is Héctor.”

She sat down next to him. “Juliana,” she said, her brow still furrowed in confusion.