He sits down at the desk across from me, and pulls on a shirt, a jersey with a hawk on it: the Hutcherson Hawks. It fits him well, that elite private school whose tuition is $3,000 more than mine per semester. I don’t have much room to complain. It doesn’t matter what private school you go to in Boston; most of them are good. No…great. That’s what Isobel said, at least.

We’re all going somewhere, she reminded me one day. Whether you go to Hutcherson or St. Clements, we’re privileged enough to afford these schools. There’s no reason to fight over which is better.

Easy for her to say, since she got into both of them.

“Hey!”

A sharp snap in my face jolts me out of my thoughts. I twitch and glare at Blake. “Not cool. Don’t snap in my face.”

“Don’t zone out, then. I’m not taking time out of my day to watch you go…wherever it is you go. I have things to do, you know? I’m doing this—”

“—out of the goodness of your heart?”

“There can be more than one reason to do something, Dre.”

“Andre,” I correct him. “My friends call me Dre. We’re not friends. You’re my teacher, and that’s a very different relationship.”

Blake’s jaw tightens. Maybe that was a bit too harsh, but I’m not going to take it back now. Blake helping me doesn’t mean that I have to be nice to him. It means that I have to respect his teachings and treat this seriously.

“Fine. Rule two…only one jump at a time. You can’t go to one place and then jump to another place. You have to return home.”

“Like a yo-yo.”

Blake rolls his eyes. “Yes, Andre. Like a human yo-yo.”

“Are you going to let me ask why we have to go from point A to point B and back, or am I going to be shot down for that too?”

“Are you just going to ask annoying questions over and over again?”

“Probably.”

Blake sighs, pinching his nose. He leans against the desk, which wheezes under his weight. His bicep flexes instinctively, and I do my best not to stare. It’s a normal human reaction, right? Finding beauty and recognizing it in front of you? Blake’s good-looking, objectively speaking.

“About your question… I’m not exactly sure.”

A fake gasp leaves my mouth. “What? The Blake McIntyre doesn’t know the answer to something?”

“God,” he growls, pushing off the desk. “Bite me, Andre. I’m not a science nerd like you and my mom and…”

He falls silent, and his eyes darken. His body stiffens for a moment, like how people tighten right before a nurse gives them a shot or someone hits them.

Then, as quickly as he disappeared, he returns, snapping back into his body like… Well, just like a yo-yo.