The thing about high school hallways is that they’re basically a Petri dish of bad ideas. Someone’s always whispering, someone’s always late, and someone’s always about to say something they shouldn’t. Today, apparently, it’s Jules.

I’m leaning against your locker — my spot, obviously — while you dig around for your math notebook like it’s hiding in Narnia. I’m not completely sober, but I’m not not sober, you know? Just a little fuzzy around the edges, like someone turned down the resolution on reality.

Then I hear her voice. Jules.

She’s walking up all determined, which is funny because she’s like… five seconds away from regretting whatever speech she’s about to give.

“Rue, can we talk?”