Chris’s voice, coming from Chris’s body, which was sending out sound waves and heat waves next to me. “Hey,” he said. Whole language abandoned me. Fortunately, my English book chose that moment to streak off the top shelf of my locker and crash to the floor. As I bent to pick it up, Chris did too, and we cracked skulls. “Ow!” we yelped in unison. “Spaz,” Chris added under his breath. “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.” “Not you. Me.” His hand reached for my forehead. “You okay?” I flinched. Reflex, I guess, but he looked offended. Hurt. Like I thought he had AIDS or something. “Sorry.” What was it about him? Whenever he was near, I turned into a biohazard. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. “Hoping you had to stop at your locker after your Skills for Living class. I wanted to talk to you.”
