I released the door handle and wheeled back to find him sprawled on the pavement with my boot prints across his back. Quickly, I ran down the stairs toward him, skidding to a stop and dropping my bag with a force that spilled its contents onto the grass alongside his.

Josh clutched at the ballistic nylon and ripcord pulleys of his backpack, salvaging out his PC notebook from its padded-by-NASA slipcase. With a desperate push of his finger, he attempted to power the notebook up. My heart fisted.

I couldn’t stomach the waiting. In an unguarded moment of panic, I wailed, “Is it okay?!”

I pulled in deep breaths; Josh held his. We both waited. And watched. And prayed. Then out of the silence, it beeped.

Josh exhaled. I collapsed to my knees in relief.

Normally, I wouldn’t have shown that kind of emotion over an electronic device within a hundred-foot radius of school, but seriously, that’s one damn fine gaming laptop he’s got.

The sound of the first bell shattered my relief.

I scrambled to help him with his books and papers, all of which had gone flying because—*rolls eyes*—his backpack is reserved for electronics and games only.

As I glanced guiltily over at him, I couldn’t help but think how easily I could’ve been just like poor Josh—faded into the background, immersed in my own little cyberworld, hiding behind my subnet mask—if not for Kori swooping in on her dark wings and changing everything.

“I’m so sorry, Josh. I didn’t even see you.”

Josh wheezed, taking a quick hit off his inhaler.

I really didn’t think I’d hit him that hard.

God, I hope I didn’t bruise him.

“Oh, um … uh … huh,” he stammered, scraping together loose papers. His major crush on me explained, but didn’t excuse, his repeated attempts at brushing hands with mine while collecting the last of the papers.

My other friends think his crush on me is cute, but Kori, who always refers to him as my “crushy stalker boy,” says it’s pathetic. What’s pathetic is that last year Principal Teasley busted him ogling the Pixilated Women of Playboy. Accusations of him warming his worm to the sex scenes in Team America World Police soon spread.

Yes, gamer boy isn’t into any RL women except me. Aren’t I the lucky one?

Not that he actually speaks to me in “Real Life” or anything. At least not in the two years since his chemistry experiment prematurely ejaculated blue dye on me. But we do have decent IM chats whenever he stalks me online. In real life, he just sort of stares at me and drools. Okay, it’s not like he actually dribbles spit or anything, but his lips get freakishly moist.

“S-S-Serena?”