DREW: Sure, no problem.

It shouldn’t even be that hard, when you think about it. Staying away from him, I mean. Except for the fact that we live together. Maybe I can just start being really mean to him. Or maybe I can do something to make him hate me.

“Oh, great, you’re awake!” Drew says brightly, knocking on my open door and peeking his head around the corner. Ugh.

I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep. “Ally, I saw your eyes open,” he says, coming into my room and sitting down on my bed.

I try to fake snore. He laughs. Fuck.

“I’m sleeping,” I tell him, rolling over. The back of my pajama pants rides down as I twist, exposing the top of my underwear to both America and Drew. I hike them up, hoping he didn’t see. And hoping he did.

“Well, I’m leaving for class now, anyway,” he says. “I just wanted to wish you good luck in photography today. You’re turning your pictures in, right?”

“Yeah.” I roll back over and face him. He’s wearing a long-sleeved gray T-shirt under a navy blue puffy vest. His hair’s gelled, and his face, as usual, is a little scruffy. He smells amazing.

“Well, good luck. Not that you’ll need it.”

“Thanks,” I manage, trying not to breathe through my nose. His cologne is turning me on. When he leaves, for the second day this week, I can’t fall back asleep.

Photography, two o’clock that afternoon. Something bad is happening. Instead of just handing in our pictures like one would do in a normal class, Professor Lutkiss has decided to show one picture from each person’s assignment and tell us WHAT HE THINKS OF THEM. Like, in front of the whole class. I think this is a terrible idea, but I don’t say so for fear of him using it against me.

IMAGINED HUMILIATION:

ME: Please don’t show my pictures, I’m embarrassed.

PROFESSOR LUTKISS: Let’s start with Ally, shall we?

I wouldn’t put it past him. After he made a spectacle of me that day, I’m suspicious of his motives and aspirations. The only thing that makes this somewhat bearable is the fact that he’s not giving our names with the pictures. So at least if mine suck, they’ll suck anonymously.

Kelly sits next to me at one of the long tables. She seems unconcerned about the teacher’s announcement and is checking her reflection in a compact. She smears some lip gloss on her lips and smiles at me. I return the smile nervously, feeling as if I’m going to throw up.

“This,” Professor Lutkiss says at the front of the room, holding up a picture of a couple holding hands. “Who can tell me what is wrong with THIS?”

Hands shoot up around the room. For some reason, the class is eager to offer their opinions on what is wrong with the work of their classmates.

“The lighting.”

“The angle.”