“Keep that covered for a day or two and treat it gently, and the nail will heal. Get a pass for whatever class you’re missing at the front desk.”
“Okay, thanks.” As I reach for the doorknob, her hand lands on my back, and I jump.
“And, Kenzie?”
I don’t move, bracing myself for a parting shot about my wonderful, unforgettable, dead brother. “Yes?”
“Don’t be afraid.…”
I turn to meet her eyes as she passes me in the doorway. “Of what?”
“Most of us have been lucky. But …” She lifts a shoulder. “Beware.”
Did she say “beware” or “be aware”? The text message dances in my brain.
Caveat viator, Quinte.
Traveler beware. I try to act as casual as possible. “What are you talking about?”
Her smile is tight. “Just call me if you need …”
“What?”
She keeps her mouth sealed and that fake smile in place, her lips pressed so tight it looks like she’s fighting to keep from saying anything else. Before I can ask again, she continues into the hall, disappearing around the corner.
I stand for a moment, trying to replay and understand the conversation. Why would I call her? What would I need? Something about Conner … or the list? Or this injury? Unable to decipher what she meant, I go back to the main office and head out.
“Excuse me! Kenzie!”
I turn, ready to face Nurse Fedder again, but it’s the lady at the front desk, waving a pass I need to take to my physics teacher.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the slip of paper.
“And he’s here for you.”
I glance in the waiting area, sucking in a breath at the sight of Levi Sterling on the couch, legs propped on a coffee table, my books and handbag next to him.
“I stopped into Zeller’s room and got your stuff,” he says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to have done. “And, no, I didn’t go through your wallet.” He’s trying for a joke, but the humor isn’t there. Can’t be easy knowing everyone assumes the worst of you.
“Thanks,” I say.
He stands, looking at my hand. “Nice.”
Of course, I give him the finger. “This one’s for you.”
“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and damn it, I believe him.
“ ’Sokay.” I reach for my books and bag. The move is awkward with my newly bandaged finger, so he scoops up the textbooks for me. “Thanks,” I say again, willing myself not to blush when his hand brushes mine.
Good God, Kenzie. Not only is he out of your league and dangerous—he just smashed your hand in your locker.
Beware.
I shake the nurse’s weird warning out of my head. “I’m late for class, so I better go.”
“I’ll see you Sunday night, then.”
I feel a frown form. “Sunday night?” Was there something going on that I didn’t remember?
“For tutoring.”
“At night?”
He laughs at my incredulous tone. “Yeah, at night.” As I start to shake my head, he holds out his hand to stop my argument. “I talked to Mr. Zeller, and he thinks it’s a great idea and the only way I’m going to pass the test next Monday.”
I forgot Zeller also teaches Math for Morons. “I can’t, sor—”
“He said he’d give you extra credit.”
“I don’t need it.”
He leans his shoulder into mine. “Liar.”
“I’m not lying. I have a—”
“You have an eighty-nine. I saw his grade book.”
I blow out a breath. “I have a ninety-eight, so maybe your issue with word problems is the reading, not the math.” I smile, a little smug with my clever banter.
But the smile fades as I read the expression in his eyes. “Yeah,” he says softly, looking away. “Maybe.”
He gives me a nod and takes a step in the other direction, leaving me with a sensation of … Crap. Why did I say that to him? Maybe he really does need help to pass and I’m the one who’ll keep him from robbing a bank or being a garbage man. He’s two steps away from me now, and my face grows warm as I try to remember all the reasons to say no. Juvie, motorcycle, trouble, bedroom eyes … nothing is actually making enough sense to use as an actual excuse.
“Saturday afternoon would be better,” I say quickly, bringing him to a stop. At least I won’t have to see him at night.
“I can’t, I have someone—something else.”
Someone else. We both know he was right the first time.
“Meet at Starbucks across from the Giant Eagle?” he suggests. “Sunday at eight.”
That’s close enough to my house that I can walk. “For an hour,” I