As if thirty dollars and one high school student would make a difference in our situation. Still, it would be something. And it would be my very own thing, and as Mom says, Own your power. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

Satisfied, Em and Aviana move on to other topics, namely me again. And Shane, who hasn’t texted so much as a “hey sup” since the Great Pizza Purchase last week.

“Have you heard from him?” asks Aviana.

“Not since you asked this morning,” I say. I bite off a bigger hunk of pizza than maybe is polite, but at least this way I won’t have to answer any more questions.

“Are you gonna text him? You should.”

“Mmmf-mm-mff,” I say, grateful for the pizza in my mouth.

The ten-minute bell rings, and Aviana and I toss out the remains of our pizza slices in their paper plates while Em shoves her Tupperware sandwich box back into her backpack. We start walking toward the center of campus.

The sad thing is, despite his deafening silence since the Great Pizza Purchase (or maybe because of it), my feelings for Shane have evolved from Hopeless But Entertaining Crush from Afar to Hopeful (and Obviously Delusional . . . and Yet Still Hopeful) Crush from a Medium Distance. I just need to accept that guys like Shane don’t reciprocate crushes from girls like me. Because reality. I need to move on. “I have moved on,” I say out loud, to myself as much as to Emily and Aviana.

“I still think you need to get together with Owen,” says Em. “I like him.”

“Then you date him.”

“It’s okay to admit you have a crush, CJ,” she says with a smile and a shake of her head. We’ve reached an intersection between buildings, and Em and Aviana turn right to go to physics. “See you after school.”

“I don’t have a crush on him!” I call after them.

“Have a crush on who?” says someone in my ear. Shane. I leap away and whirl around like one of those freaked-out internet cats, banging him in the elbow with my backpack in the process.

“Oh!” I squeak. I clear my throat and try again. “Sorry! No one! I don’t have a crush on anyone!”

“High-strung much?” he says, rubbing his elbow and grinning. “Man, that hurt!”

“I can be lethal when I’m surprised.”

He laughed and says, “Aw, you’re too cute to be afraid of.”

Suddenly, I realize that I’ve just said a flirty thing and Shane has just said a flirty thing back, so naturally the next thing I do is stand there as silent as a department store mannequin. And there’s Shane, waiting for me to continue our flirty conversation.

“Be afraid,” I say. Ooh, good one, Ceej.