A beat of silence. Then a laugh, short and crackling, right by his ear.

She didn’t wait for an answer. A heavy canvas bag hit the floor by his feet with a thud, followed by the scrape of a chair being dragged closer. He could feel her leaning over his desk, her shadow falling across his notebook.

Lip finally stopped writing. He turned his head just enough to see her out of the corner of his eye. Messy hair, a threadbare band t-shirt under an open flannel, and a smile that looked like it was about to get them both in trouble.

She dropped into the seat directly behind him, her knee bumping the back of his chair. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

Mr. Healy cleared his throat at the front of the room, tapping a stack of papers against his desk.

A groan rippled through the room. Lip felt a tap on his shoulder. He didn’t turn.