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“I can’t just arbitrarily decide who is the valedictorian.”

“You’re misinterpreting where ‘arbitrary’ fits in this conversation,” Alex says.

Miss Reynolds closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. I get the feeling she’s had many, many conversations with Alex that end this way. When she looks up, she’s got her professional face back on.

“A lot of things can change before the end of the year,” she says. “And, Jack, you need to remember that being salutatorian is nothing to sneeze at.”

Which to me sounds like: Alex is very unlikely to make any mistakes, so you need to start adjusting to the new reality.

Alex and I walk out of the office together and I find myself in an awkward situation that only people from small towns can appreciate. I know Alex Craft. I know her in the sense that I could pick her out of my class photos from kindergarten on. I know her because people don’t leave this place and our parents know each other—hell, I’m pretty sure my mom dated her dad. I know her because everyone knows everybody here, and Alex especially because her sister is the only reason a news crew has been in this town, ever.

I know Alex Craft. And I have nothing to say to her.

But I want to find some words that will make her look at me again, because I liked the way her green eyes stood out among all those freckles. And the part of me that goes to AP English digs that she’s smart, while the part of me that slaughters freshmen with dodgeballs is kinda turned on by the idea that I’m competing against her for something.

And she’s walking away from me.

I know how to do this. I know the things to say to people that will keep them at arm’s length while reinforcing how cool I am. I know how to speed up or slow down to give them the idea that you’re really not into talking to them and the distance between the two of you grows even though you’re the only ones in the hallway. I know how to make a joke about taking a shit and duck into the bathroom for a few minutes until they’re gone.

Instead I take a few extra inches in my stride until I’m keeping pace with Alex. I see her eyes flick in my direction for a nanosecond when she picks me up in her peripheral, but she doesn’t slow down.

“Crazy, huh?” I say.

“Excuse me?”

“The valedictorian thing. Crazy.”

She stops at her locker, gaze going to the hallway clock instead of me. “I don’t know that it’s crazy so much as an indication that we’re both intelligent people.”

“But you’re more intelligent.”

Alex spins her combination lock. “Not necessarily. I’ve never been quite clear how such a thing is determined.”

“They take your GPA and—”

“I know how the school does it,” she says, snapping her locker open. “I mean in general.”

“Oh,” I say, because I can’t really think of anything else.

The bell rings. The sound slices through the hall, scattering all the words I’m trying so hard to accumulate between us. She jumps as if she wasn’t expecting it, her hands curling into fists.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“No,” she says immediately, the unexpectedness of the question prompting an honest answer.

“Can I”—help? Have your number? Touch your arm? Get you to look at me again?—all of these things are utterly lost as my name comes rolling down the hallway in Park’s drawl.

“JAAAAAAACK,” he’s calling for me, more than a little obnoxious as he turns the corner to find me at Alex’s locker. The halls are filling up and there’s no reason for him to think that I’ve actually been talking to her. Except she’s finally looking at me again, waiting for me to finish whatever this sentence is going to turn into.

And I can’t come up with a single goddamn word. My mouth is hanging open and it’s like she’s the hook and I’m a fish and I can’t do anything but flop around when Park pushes his body against mine so that we’re touching from toes to forehead and all I can think is Jesus, really? Right now? This is the moment he chooses to pull out a joke from seventh grade?

“Jack, baby,” he says. “I missed you so much.” He clenches my head in his hands and covers my mouth with his thumbs and fake kisses me so hard I swear I’ll have bruising tomorrow. “And you, girl,” he says to Alex after pulling away from me. “I could just eat you up.”

He’s going for her with a big dumb grin on his face, absolutely certain that she will have no problem with him smashing his fingers into her lips and his face up to hers. Her expression doesn’t change; that slightly confused look that had been directed at me as I struggled with words now turns to Park as the fist that never unclenched finds a target.

She drops her shoulder to gain some momentum as she takes a jab at his crotch, one bony knuckle protruding on purpose for maximum effect as if she wants to pop his testicles like water balloons.

And he goes down like a box of rocks.