A street vendor hollered at you in passing, pushing a basket of pale, sagging flowers still wrapped in plastic. You traded him a nod, nothing else.

Your steps took you up the familiar block, past a cinder-block building that blinked SWEET BY THE POUND, a sign half-bent from where it had been peeled off months ago, past stacks of tires, past a drain that always smelled of motor oil and grass.

You stopped at the corner. The school popped up between two structure blocks, all dull bricks and loud windows. Most of the kids were still unloading from buses and backpacks, small clusters folding into the gray autumn air like dice thrown. A couple of them looked at you. None of them said hi.

Your phone vibrated. Midnight. Then a second.

The group by the main doors was shaping up to be the usual—one girl in a too-bright yellow cardigan telling a story with her entire body, a boy sliding his backpack straps off his shoulders like he owned the place. And behind them, slouched against the wall with a grubby backpack between his knees—

A familiar face. Medium tall, medium everything. Brown hair, could use a second meal. He looked up from his phone like he'd only just remembered he was supposed to be here.

That was the one they called Coney. Or Peter. Either way, your lab partner, sitting there like he belonged to a different city and wasn't entirely sure he wanted to.