“I should go check on Elena to see if she needs me. Don’t break anything,” Alice says, leaving with a spin, her hair punctuating her exit with a flap against her shoulder.

  My fingers are itching to touch the keys, but all I can think about is that hour-long algebra assignment now lost in the depths of the Heywood train station. I consider looking for it when we get home. Our station isn’t very big, and the train times are spaced far apart. With my luck, though, the six or seven trains that will pass between now and then will have picked it up and carried it in a wind down the town streets, dumping it anywhere. Anywhere is a much less specific place to search for something.

  I move to a small desk tucked in the corner where two of the tall bookcases meet and drop my bag on top, letting my things slide out to the sides. I busy myself sorting through my mess first, putting papers back in folders, books back in order, and pencils where they belong. I’m struggling with the zipper when Henry walks in and drops his backpack next to my algebra book.

  “Hey, what’s up?” He talks to me as if we’ve been friends for a while. Naturally, I start to sweat.

  “Hi, Henry,” I say, tucking my hands under my thighs and smiling up at him. Right back to feeling like his kid sister. He gives me a crooked smile that makes one eye squint a little.

  “Hi, Lily.” There’s a teasing tone to his voice. I’m relieved when his eyes leave my face and look down at my algebra book. He spins it with his finger and flips it open a few pages, leaning down and resting his elbows on either side.

  “I miss this stuff,” he hums, flipping several pages by at a time. He stops on one of the unit intro pages that I doodled a heart on and the initials PJ.

  “PJ, huh?” His lips pucker and I flush.

  “It’s an old book. I didn’t write that,” I lie, flattening my palm on the page and turning the book back toward me.

  “Uh huh…sure,” Henry says, standing tall again and moving toward the piano. My eyes follow him, wondering if he’s going to play. I already feel envy that he might. I should have started at the piano, taken it for mine before he could insert himself.

  He grips the bench on one end and drags it across the floor to the other side of the desk, sitting on it and bringing a book from his bag up on the desk.

  “Chemistry?” My eyes flit from the book to him. At my school, we just have science. It’s a little bit of everything, but nothing very in-depth.

  “Richmond is a pretty academic school. We have a class on water harvesting, too. It’s a hippy class, though, so no one really takes it.” He chuckles as he flips his book open, and I wonder what water harvesting even means.

  “Oh,” I say with a slow nod, faking it. I probably should have laughed like he did, found the joke about hippies funny. Alice and Collin are kind of hippy-like, though, so I’m also a little offended—even if I don’t really know what water harvesting is. I think Henry might be a snob.

  I force myself to concentrate on my work, slipping a blank paper from my packet in my bag that’s now resting by my leg. I write my name and the date in the upper corner and begin with the first problem. I get through the first three before the fast scribbling sound of Henry’s pen forces me to look up.

  “You’re left-handed,” I say, that small fact not really why I’m looking at him. He has the pen gripped in a fist, and he’s scratching out letters with tiny numbers, like formulas for God knows what. Maybe he’s water harvesting.

  “Yep,” he says. His lips smack shut at the end of the word and his eyes glance up briefly, amused by me.

  His hand continues to scratch away at the paper, so hard I think he might tear it if he keeps up this pace. He gets to the bottom of the paper and begins to flip it over when he looks up and catches me still staring.

  “What?” His forehead is dented between his brows.

  “You’re uhm…kinda loud,” I say, pointing my pencil’s eraser to his pen.

  He leans back in his chair, dropping the pen as he does. His hand flexes wide then joins his other palm behind his neck, elbows bent out on either side.

  “Sorry,” he says, smirking for a brief second. “I rush through the stuff I don’t like.”

  “You don’t like chemistry?” I flip his paper over and scan the rows of formulas.

  “It’s my second time taking it. Failed the first time through,” he says. I realize that means he probably took chemistry in seventh grade. My school is an embarrassment.

  “You seem to have a good grasp on it now,” I say through a half smile.

  He shifts in his seat and leans forward again, his hands folded on top of his book.

  “I get bored, I guess. I don’t know. It sounds so typical, but sometimes I just act up, I guess. I don’t know…” He trails off, staring at his paper for a few seconds before squinting with one eye again and looking at me, his tongue pushed in his cheek.

  “You have to do that right now?” He points at my homework.

  “Sadly, I do. Four dickheads at the train station kicked my backpack and my homework took off to who knows where.” I sigh heavily at the visual replaying in my head. When my eyes move up to meet Henry’s, I catch the amusement on his face. “What? You think those guys were funny?”

  I feel myself starting to stew all over again.

  “No…you said dickheads. Just…you don’t seem like the kinda girl who talks dirty,” he says, biting the tip of his tongue as if he’s stopping himself from saying too much. I’m glad he stopped.

  “They were jerks,” I say, flipping my book closed with my paper inside. “And I can probably do this later.”

  “Thata girl,” Henry says, doing the same with his book and paper. He pushes his bench back and stands, taking a few large steps toward the door. I linger by the desk, a little disappointed that we’re not moving the bench back and playing the piano.

  “Well…you coming?” His thumbs are hooked in his pockets, the bottoms of his pants rolled up to show off his ankles. I don’t know how anyone can wear shoes without socks, but I admit that Henry looks cute this way.

  “I guess,” I relent, dropping my pencil on top of my closed book. I follow Henry through the music room door out into the hallway, past the sitting room that Alice is in with Elena. Neither of them notice us walk by, but I hurry up my steps, feeling like I’m breaking some rule by leaving the one room I was given permission to be in.

  Henry stops in a massive kitchen, nothing in the room out of place. Pans shine spotless from a rack above a center island with large burners, and rolls of linen towels sit on top of a small stack of plates, as if a server is due at any moment.

  “Do you guys have a cook?” I ask as Henry opens a heavy silver door to a refrigerator, pulling out two bottles of sparkling somethings.

  “Sometimes,” he says. “Only for parties or things. Usually, I order delivery and eat on my own. Elena doesn’t like to go out.”

  Sometimes. My mind stretches to try to understand this life. We don’t even go out to eat for special occasions. Most meals are sandwiches, or soupy things that sat in the crockpot all day. We all get excited when Collin comes home with leftovers from the restaurant, but the fries are always cold and never reheat quite the same.

  Henry hands me one of the bottles and walks back down the hallway, past the room Elena and Alice are in. I figure out that I’m holding something alcoholic about a second before we pass by, and I feel my heart fly up to my throat when my eyes meet Alice’s through the doorway. Our gazes catch just long enough for her chin to tilt and her brow to wrinkle. I tuck the bottle against my side and keep walking, muttering to myself with every step.

  “Shit, shit, shit…”

  I’m expecting us to walk back into the music room, but instead, Henry moves closer to the front door, turning into the foyer and taking the spiral staircase up two steps at a time. I stall at the bottom, my thumb rubbing away a bead of water that’s formed on the chilled bottle in my hand.

  “You coming?” He slows his climb and leans over the railing to look down at me. I lift my chin and crane my neck in an attempt to see where we’re going. I know it’s his room. And while the rule-follower knows she should just turn around and go back to redoing her homework, the thirteen-year-old girl thinks following a cute boy up to his room is kind of exciting.

  “Yeah. Be right up,” I say, giving in and rushing up the steps before Alice comes down the hall and sees me.

  Henry beats me to his room by a second, and he’s already sprawled flat on his back on his bed when I step through his door. I lean against the wall just inside, drawing a limit to how daring I plan to be. Henry sits up and pulls a bottle opener attached to a few keys from his pocket. His drink fizzes as he pops it open and gestures for me to hand him mine. I do, even though I don’t really want it, and he scoots forward to hold his bottle between his knees while he pulls away my cap.

  “Cheers,” he says with a laugh, handing it back to me.

  I hold it up with a little tilt, my eyes watching his, trying to read this dare. He wants to see just how far I’ll go with this—if I’m really just a little girl, like I seem. I bring the glass rim to my lips and lift, the sharp carbonation coating my tongue in a flavor that’s both sweet and bitter at once.

  “It’s almost lemon,” I say, trying my best not to frown as I swallow.

  “It is lemon,” Henry says, chuckling again before taking a large swig of his.

  I look at the label, noting the word HARD before the lemonade.

  “Almost,” I repeat, taking another small taste. If I can stretch this out slowly, I think I can stomach drinking a quarter of it before it’s time to go home.

  Henry rolls his eyes at me and shakes his head as he stands. He sets his bottle down on top of a dresser before he begins to yank away the tie that still hangs around his neck. I nestle myself into the corner of his room, against the wall but in a place where my elbow can lean on his chest of drawers. I’m going for relaxed, but instead I look like the world’s worst undercover spy.

  I force myself to take another sip, but the moment the liquid hits my tongue, I pull the bottle away and gasp. Henry’s unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from the waist of his pants. His shoulders can’t possibly be the same age as mine—they’re too toned and…and…big! He has biceps where most of the boys in my school have pale skin and zits, and his forearms are marked with a line where a muscle rolls while his fingers work.

  Henry turns to face me when his arms are fully free of the cotton button-down, and I turn to the side with a blush. His laugh is quiet, but it’s there, which only makes the red on my cheeks crawl down my neck and up my ears.

  “I hate wearing uniforms,” he says, giving me an explanation.

  I cough to clear my throat.

  “Oh yeah…I mean, I would too. Not that we have uniforms. Alice made me wear this sweater…which is kind of like a uniform, so I can understand. I wish I could change out of this thing…”

  “You can,” Henry says, and my head jerks to look at him. My wide eyes make him laugh hard.

  “No, I mean…borrow one of my shirts. Hold on…” He steps into his closet and shuts the door, giving me enough time to tug my sweater away from my now-damp chest and arms. The cable knit is heavy, and the yarn is scratchy—this sweater is a product of Satan.

  Henry exits after a few seconds, now wearing a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, navy blue T-shirt. He tosses one that matches at me, and I grab it as it hits me in the neck.

  “You can change in there if you want. Or…I could just turn,” he chuckles, slowly spinning until his back is to me.

  “Closet is fine,” I answer quickly, not giving him a chance to tease me more. I rush by him and shut the door, pulling the knob hard and searching for a lock. Makes sense that there isn’t one, but I still wish there was.

  I back into the corner of his closet, behind the door, so even if he were to open it, I could hide long enough to do something. I realize how stupid I’m being after a few long seconds of standing in here alone, though, so I strip away my sweater and consider tossing it high up on one of Henry’s shelves. Knowing Alice will ask me about it, though, I don’t, instead dropping it at my feet and unfurling the shirt Henry gave me.

  The front corner is crested with his name, both first and last, and the back has a large yellow circle with the words: SATIS HOUSE CREW TEAM. I run my thumbs over the printed letters and wonder what Satis House is. I pull his shirt over my head and breathe in, smelling only fabric softener. The shirt’s a size or two too large on me, so I gather it around my waist before I pick up my sweater and step out.

  “Thanks. I’m already a million times more comfortable,” I say.

  Henry is tucking his wallet and phone into his back pockets as he looks up at me, his hair less perfect than it was when he was dressed for school. Messy curls flop along his forehead, and I think how his color is almost the same as mine. I like his hair better this way.

  “Hey, looks good on you. Wanna join the rowing team with me?” His lip raises on the right as he bends over and pulls a shoe over his heel.

  “I’m pretty sure I would be the worst rower in Satis House history,” I joke. “I can’t even do one pullup. I’m going to fail PE.”

  Henry laughs, so I join him, though I wasn’t actually kidding about that last part. He slips on his other shoe and moves back to his door, grabbing his bottle in his hand and nodding toward mine. I was hoping he’d forget about it.

  “Oh…yeah. I’m actually kind of full, so…” He sees right through my excuse, and with a mocking hiss he takes my bottle in his hand and takes a long drink as he walks out his door. He carries both bottles down his front steps as I follow. When we round his house toward the backyard, he drops the half-filled one that was mine into a recycling bin.

  “I had a feeling you were a goody two-shoes,” he says.

  “I’m not…I’ve just never really had anything with alcohol, so…”

  “Goody two-shoes,” he interrupts me, turning to walk backward through yellowed, thick grass. “No…Lily two-shoes! That’s what I’ll call you!”

  “Great,” I respond, my lips flat and my gut heavy.

  My face deflates when he laughs loudly at my expense.

  “You know what? I really should do my homework…I’m just gonna go back,” I say, turning with every intention of leaving Henry alone here in the shadow of his enormous house and the Chicago skyline.

  “Don’t be like that,” he says, the tips of his fingers brushing against mine as he tries to stop me. The slight touch jolts me, like that feeling my muscles get when I’m about to drift off to sleep and suddenly wake myself at the sensation of falling.

  “I’m sorry,” he says when I turn to face him. His hand is still a little outstretched toward me, and my fingers, now buried in my pockets, twitch at the offer. His palm falls away quickly though, and I regret jerking away in the first place. “I won’t tease anymore…at least not today.”

  His cheeks dimple with his grin as he draws a cross over his chest. I hesitate, but it’s just for show. When he turns to move closer to the iron fence wrapped with ivy and dividing his yard with the one behind him, I follow. When he begins to climb over, I accept his offer to help me first with a boost under one foot, and when we both land in a yard that isn’t either of ours at a house that’s marked for sale, I follow him inside.

  “This place has been on the market for a year. Elena says they’re asking too much for it.” Henry pulls his shoes from his feet one at a time, stepping on the backs, but leaves his short socks on before sprinting through the sitting room we entered through. He stops when the hallway begins and slides a dozen more feet toward the front of the house, laughing, for once acting like the younger one of the two of us.

  “Your turn,” he says, flipping his waves of hair back and away from his eyes. He’s positively juvenile, but yet happier than he’s ever seemed. I wonder if perhaps there are two Henrys.

  “I doubt I’ll slide very far,” I say, trying to avoid his request by stepping forward instead of running.

  “Ah!” He flashes both palms to stop me. “Shoes off. Your turn.”

  I take a deep breath and let it out through my nose. Coordination of things like legs and arms and knees is not in my skills set. I don’t need Henry rushing back over the fence to call an ambulance when I break my arm.

  “I don’t run very fast,” I say, offering another excuse.

  He just holds up a finger and slides as if he’s on skates back to me.

  “I’ll pull you,” he says, holding his hands forward. My eyes go right to the fingertips I wished I’d held a few minutes ago. My heart drums an offbeat and my toes begin to curl in anticipation of me putting them through something mildly athletic.

  “Fine,” I relent, sighing one last time and pulling my shoes from my feet just as Henry did.

  With his arms outstretched, he slides back a few feet, just out of reach. I let my head fall to the side, mad that he’s teasing me again.

  “Relax, I’m just giving you slack. You’ll catch up to me and I’ll pull you to keep your speed going. Come on. I promise you’ll have fun.”

  A wry smile sinks into the corner of my mouth. There’s no going back now.

  “All right,” I begin, letting my arms dangle at my sides, swinging forward and back in my silent count to three.

  “Go!” Henry shouts, somehow on the same count with me, and I push myself forward, slipping a little at the start but running toward him and catching up to his hands after the first few steps.

  His grip is immediate. There’s nothing awkward about it on his end, once again as if he and I have done this before and often. He’s instantly comfortable, playfully shouting and encouraging me to go faster as he pulls me forward and off balance. My feet rush to keep up and just as we hit the hallway, he slingshots me past him. I slide sideways on my socks, haphazardly surfing across the shiny grain while my arms, no longer under his control, flail around my body for balance. I go a few feet farther than he did, crouching down and eventually getting to my knees just in time to move to the side as Henry races toward me. I roll on my hip as he slides by, lowering himself to his side like a baseball player reaching for second base. He coasts the complete length of the hallway this way, stopping only when his toes reach the front of the house.