James curses under his breath.

Our parents have arrived, and they’re not happy. My parents aren’t mad, though—they’re just disappointed. And surprised, my dad admits to me quietly before they’re ushered into the director’s office. We’re shut out for the time being.

“Did I hear them mention us possibly getting a suspension?” I say with a frown.

“Probably just in-school,” James says. “Nothing too harsh.”

“Just in-school suspension?” I repeat. “I didn’t even do anything.”

Dylan sighs. “Get over it, Reed. I highly doubt Columbia gives a crap about this kind of stuff.”

“Cornell,” James corrects him. “We’re going to Cornell.”

Dylan, once again, looks at me with his shiny brown eyes that are lifeless at the moment. “You didn’t tell him?”

I pinch the skin at the bridge of my nose.

“For someone so smart, you’re so stupid sometimes, Reed.”

He’s said those words to me before, but this time, I don’t disagree.

19

My parents ground me for the weekend for good measure.

“No phone and no friends,” my dad says.

I feel like many people would be devastated by that, but apart from not getting to clarify things with Dylan, it’s a normal weekend for me that’s spent reading and planning.

By Sunday night, Audrey has worn my parents down enough to video chat one of their phones. We prop her up on the table, and she insists on hearing all the details of James’s black eye. She, of course, cackles in enjoyment at his expense.

I don’t know if being suspended means I’m excused from classwork, so I make it a point to get to school a little early on Monday to turn in all my assignments.

Miss Delway isn’t in her classroom, and just as I resign to email her or try to come back at lunch, I bump into her in the hallway.

“Excuse me, Harper,” she says, delicately holding her uncapped travel cup of coffee so it doesn’t spill.

“Oh, Miss Delway, I actually have today’s assignment for you,” I tell her, pulling it out of my bag.

She offers me a tense smile when I hand it over.

“And it’s right at the word count,” I add.

That softens her a little bit. “I received an email over the weekend about you and Mr. Archer both not being in today’s class, so I appreciate your diligence in getting this assignment turned in beforehand.”

“Of course,” I say politely. “I’m not sure if he has completed this one yet, but I think he has caught up on all the makeup work as of last week, so this shouldn’t be too delayed.”

Her eyebrows pull together. “Makeup assignments? I’m not sure what you mean.”

I stop fidgeting with the strap of my bag to make sure she’s not messing with me.

I’m not on the closest terms with her. In fact, I’m far from her favorite student, much to my dismay, but she doesn’t have a reason to lie to me about this, so I push back.

“The makeup work Dylan had from missing a bunch of assignments earlier in the semester?” I’m fishing, but I can already tell from the look of impatience on her face that she has no idea what I’m talking about.

“Dylan Archer? Miss assignments?” She wrinkles her nose. “It's not entirely appropriate for me to discuss other students’ grades, but I can say that he is one of the few students whose grades even comes close to yours. He might not be as dedicated as you are, but I can’t recall a time he has ever missed an assignment.”

I blink. “Right, I must have gotten something mixed up,” I lie. “But thank you for accepting this. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

As I walk to the tiny, windowless room near the front office that’s set aside for suspensions, I come to terms with the fact that Dylan Archer lied to me.

He came to me months ago under the pretense of needing my help when he didn’t, and I want to know why.

I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s some nefarious reason like I suspected originally. He hated James so much he thought it’d be funny to put a wedge between us or maybe he had a bet with Brandon, who conveniently pushed me toward him, on screwing with me.

As I take my seat at the desk in the corner of the room, I admit to myself that I highly doubt either scenario is true—or if it was at the beginning, it’s not now.

At least I hope.

Being with Dylan, or talking and kissing or whatever we’re doing in this annoying undefined gray area, is like having the tip of a knife in my gut. I don’t know if he’s going to slice me open or just hold it there to spur me forward into action.

A tiny part of my brain wonders if James was right all along.

Innocent.

Cute.

Predictable.

I shake that off. It’s not who I am anymore. Or maybe it is, but there are other things that take precedence over that.

I’m pulled out of my musings when James and Dylan both enter the room, followed closely by one of the office administrators.

They both pointedly avoid me, but I see the forced blank expression on Dylan’s face just as clearly as I see the purple and black bruise coming along nicely on James’s.

“This is in-school suspension, not social hour,” the administrator says. “You will only leave this room to use the bathroom or come directly to me with questions. Myself and teachers will check in periodically to ensure you are all on task and working on schoolwork. No phones or noise allowed.”

The three of us are silent during her monologue. I’m mentally willing her to leave so I can get my thoughts together and figure out how to best confront Dylan. It’s a horrible idea to do it in front of James, but I’m not sure I can hold it in all day.

“Am I understood?” she asks.

“Yes.” I’m the only one who answers, but it’s suitable enough for her to leave us alone and shut the door behind her.

I expect James and Dylan to pick up where they left off on Friday, but they both seem content pretending as if no one else is in the room.

To my surprise, they both appear to be working.

On schoolwork.

And I’m not.

I have no motivation with everything swirling in my head. I dig through my bag for something to distract me, but all I come up with is a few candy wrappers and my copy of Brave New World that makes me shake with emotion until I shove it back into the bottom.

I put my elbows on the table and my chin in my palms, and I’m content to stare at the wall.

My brain is receptive to the blank space, like I’m giving it room to breathe. I need things to be less chaotic so that I can decipher what’s happening in my own head. It’s a direct result of what these two boys, who I’m stuck here with, have put me through.

For most of the day, we’re left alone. Occasionally, a teacher will pop in to briefly see that there are no more black eyes being doled out, but it’s always during a break between classes.

During the period that should be English, I turn on my chair and watch Dylan work. It seems appropriate, given that we’ve shared this time together for months.

I’m trying to see what he’s working on, what has him so enthralled during this exceptionally long day, but he’s holding his textbook at an angle I can’t see from where I’m sitting.