Pierce sits at a back table, away from the array of student desks arranged four by four in front of Mrs. Horner. His head ducked low, he focuses on his construction project. I should be the last person guilty of writing someone off, but I’ve never really taken the time or interest to watch him in action before. Granted, a dust mote floating by is usually enough to distract him, so most schoolwork is a struggle for him to get through. But give him some drawing pencils or paint and paper and he’s locked in like a laser. Along his desk are paper cranes, sharks, and butterflies, since origami is his latest fixation.

You could wind Pierce up. He can keep everyone distracted for days.

No, I need to do better. But I think you’re onto something.

I take out a new sheet of paper to begin a note to him, but think better of it, in case there’s a repeat of me sneaking someone something they want but shouldn’t have and getting low-key reported for it. Instead I wait until Pierce and his overly polite self asks to sharpen a pencil, and I linger at the cabinets searching for a book until he gets there.

“Hey, Pierce,” I whisper while my back is to Mrs. Horner.

Sheer panic covers his face. Pierce scans about, one, to make sure I was talking to him and, two, to make sure Mrs. Horner doesn’t see him talking. I’m under no illusions: Pierce is difficult to reach on his best days. Connecting with him is like journeying to another planet and you know your universal translator is on the fritz.

“No worries. I’ll chat. I was wondering if you ever had any bad dealings with Kutter.”

Pierce jumps at the name, a full body spasm like I’d just punched him. With his flinch I get another queasy feeling that, for better or worse, Pierce is part of our brotherhood. And we should take care of our own.

“It’s okay. He’s done it to me, too. To all of us. We want to stop him. Are you interested in helping us?”

A light flickers in Pierce’s eyes. It’s like watching part of him climb out of a deep hole he’d chosen to crawl into. He gives a barely perceptible nod.

“Good. We just need a small distraction. Something to get Mr. Blackmon out of the room for a little bit. Nothing that would get you in trouble.”

Pierce nods. I’m not a real big fan of the weird smile he wears on his face.

By the time I get back to my seat, Pierce reports to Mrs. Horner’s desk. My heart skips as he turns back to me. My gut lurches on visions of giving Twizzlers to Ahrion. But then Pierce scrunches his face at me. I think that’s what passes for a wink for him.

“Mrs. Horner, may I borrow the stapler?” he asks.

“What for?”

“To finish my origami project.”

“Sure.” Mrs. Horner hands him her stapler. “Be careful. It’s touchy.”