I asked the next night, peeking over my shoulder to see if anyone was about to lynch us. Two kids dressed in black, ten o’clock at night creeping around the school, my arrest record was about to get another page, I could feel it. Haze felt around the school’s windowpane, slipping a finger in the gap I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t watching. “What were you expecting?” “I don’t know, maybe coffee or something?” When he turned to look at me oddly, I shrugged. “Yeah, I said it! We hang out in a closet every weekday, and a park sometimes at night. I thought you might be ready to get a coffee—like a date or something. Tell me that wouldn’t be a step up.” Okay, maybe I was hoping that by “next level” he had meant some heavy petting behind the school dumpster, but I’d been willing to settle for a real date—in another city, far, far away from anyone we knew. “This is next level. You’re teaching me yours, now I’m going to teach you mine.
