He likes to put up a fight, but he’s never once turned down one of my ideas. Even when they get us in trouble. I think he likes the rush. Maybe he’s a junk-food junkie and an adrenaline junkie.

Junkie, junkie, junkie—

“What are you saying?” he says, laughing, as we cross the now-empty lot. There are a couple cars, but I don’t see any people. Good enough. We’ll just have to be sneaky.

Ignoring him, I hold my finger up to my mouth to shush him. I make some random gestures with my fingers that has him looking at me like I’ve grown a second head.

I shrug, whispering, “I saw it in a movie.”

Getting inside the school is easy as pie, and we’re lucky because Waylon’s homeroom is so close to the doors. The lights are still on in the room, but Mr. K’s nowhere to be seen. Waylon brushes past me, heading for the rack of cubbies along the back wall. I can’t wait till next year—we’ll be the big shots of the school and finally get lockers.

I keep look-out as Waylon digs through the mess of papers and textbooks in his cubby.

Somewhere down the hall, a door slams shut. “Shoot. Hurry,” I whisper loudly.

“Got it!”

My eyes widen then just as footsteps sound right outside the room. I rush back to where Waylon’s still partially hidden behind the coat rack and shove him back.

“Hey!”

I smack a hand over his mouth and crane my head around the divider just as a shadow appears in the doorway. I mouth out a “Crap” and move us even farther back, until we’re basically pressed into the corner.

I turn and find Waylon’s wide, unblinking green-gold eyes staring at me inches away. My hand is still pressed to his mouth, with my other one gripping his sleeve just at the elbow. My chest heaves and I dart my gaze back and forth between his—

The lights cut out.

A door clicks shut.

Someone’s humming loudly, and off-key, just outside the room, but it’s quickly drowned out by the sound of a vacuum coming to life.

I drop the hand I had covering Waylon’s mouth. My palm is slick with the moisture from his soft pants. The ones that now blow hotly over my cheek, my nose, my lips, because we’re that close. He smells like peanut butter, probably from his lunch.

“What now?” he whispers.

“I don’t know. We wait?” I say just as quietly. I’m sure he feels my breaths on his face too. I’m suddenly glad I’m chewing gum. I had egg salad today.

“I told you this was a bad idea.”

I scowl, even though he can’t see me.

“Stop chewing so loudly,” he hisses.

I swallow my gum with a loud gulp. “Happy?”

He huffs.