At school the next day, I could barely keep my focus, distracted by the thought of what awaited me at the end of the day. Three of my teachers called me out for not paying attention.

At lunch, I sat down at the end of one of our long mahogany dining tables flanked by Carrie and Dan. He sat quietly, focused on his three chocolate pudding cups. Makenzie was on his other side, chatting with a group of junior girls who'd taken up residence next to us. I pulled out my phone, uninterested in their speculation about Jessalyn Martin's sudden increase in bust size. So she may have gotten a boob job. Who cared? It was her body, let her do what she wanted with it.

My heart skipped a beat when I saw the notification on my lock screen. A text from Clay. I couldn't see the message since I'd set my phone to hide the content of notifications while locked. I didn't want to risk another situation like the time Alfie sent an unsolicited dick pic. My phone was sitting face up on the dining table—my first mistake—and my mother looked down when the message came through. She saw it, which led to a humiliating conversation about sending nudes.

I unlocked the phone and clicked on the messages app. Chewing on my bottom lip, I scanned the words.

Sitting n calc bored to death. Thinkin bout u & all teh fun we cold b having right now instead of this shit.

The time stamp was from ten minutes ago.

Those words—"Thinkin bout u"—made my heart flutter.

I wondered if Clay would get it if I sent a reply. I decided to chance it.

Same. I wish we could just skip out.

Five seconds after I hit send, a reply popped up

Want to?

I pressed my lips tightly to avoid grinning. Spending the afternoon with Clay, while I should be in history or chemistry, was an offer too tempting to pass up.

You'd have to pick me up.

On my way.

Was I really doing this? I could text Clay back that I was kidding—though I wasn't at all. I could back out right now. But I didn't want to. I wanted to see him. My heart was already racing at the prospect.

I knew Carrie would aid my escape if I asked, but I didn't want everyone at the table to know, so I sent her a text. She checked her phone after it dinged. Her eyes jumped up to meet mine. Her lips spread into a grin. I knew without her having to say it. She was in.

"Emmie, I need something in my locker," Carrie said, hooking her purse in the crook of her elbow. "Walk with me?"

"Sure." I tried to keep my voice even. I'd never done anything like this.

My pulse pounded out an unsteady rhythm as I stood up. Carrie took my hand as we headed into the hall. Rather than turning left toward our lockers, Carrie pulled me to the right.

"You can't go through the front gate," Carrie mumbled.

"Really? Because my plan was just to walk right out."

Heron Prep made sure students couldn't leave without permission by having a gate with a security guard—Stu—who manned the gatehouse. Stu wouldn't let anyone exit early without word from the front office. If a person's name wasn't on his list, he would call in to double-check any story they told. There were many tall tales from my wealthier classmates about the absurd things they'd offered as bribes to get through that gate. To use Carrie's word of the day, Stu remained stalwart in his duties.

"If you're gonna be bitchy, I can turn around and go back to lunch." Carrie pointed over her shoulder, half turning her torso, like she was about to leave me.

I tightened my grip on her arm, pulling her closer. "Sorry."

Carrie gave a curt nod. "Your best bet is the side gate by the gym. The groundskeepers never close it."

"How do you know that?"

"How do you not? I thought everyone knew about that."

"Clearly, not me," I said. "I've never tried to skip school before."

Carrie reached over with her free hand to pat my shoulder. "Because you're a goody two shoes."

"Apparently not so much anymore."

Carrie cackled mischievously. "And I'm so glad I get to aid and abet your descent to the dark side, young Padawan."

I released her hand to hook an arm around her shoulders. I hugged her to my side and kissed the top of her head.

Carrie somehow got me all the way to the hall outside the gym without incident. "And voila." Carrie gestured to the door at the end of the hall that led outside. "Get through that door and you're home free."

We both paused when the door to the gym opened. Carrie shoved me into the alcove with the drinking fountains and rushed toward the door.

"What are you doing?" asked Mr. Cordova—the gym teacher and head coach of the football team. "Why aren't you in class, young lady?"

Carrie let out a pained groan. I peeked around the corner to see her clutching her stomach. "Cramps. Period," she said, contorting her face in fake pain. "So bad."

"Oh, well, that's—" Mr. Cordova shook his head, sounding distressed "—that's okay then."

I covered my mouth, holding back a laugh. For people so obsessed with vaginas, straight guys had such a weird aversion to periods. Even the mention of it sent them cringing away like the woman just confessed to having an incurable contagious disease.

"I need to sit down," Carrie said, pointing to the gym door. "Could you help?" She clutched his elbow, not giving him a choice.

Mr. Cordova grumbled a bit, but he agreed, opening the door for her. Carrie stuck her free hand out behind his back and waved for me to go.

Once the door was almost closed, I sprinted to the exit. I was overtaken by exhilaration when I made it. Just a few feet away, the utility gate stood wide open, just as Carrie said.

"Hey!" a deep voice shouted.

I startled at the sound, my joy souring. I was so close. Clay was just on the other side of the gate.

I thought about making a break for it, but my bravery was quickly waning.

Instead, I turned toward the voice. It was the hot gardener. The one with the abs who always lifted his shirt to wipe sweat off his face. Many of my freshman year fantasies featured the gorgeous man. He looked to be in his mid-twenties. The name stitched on his chest was Greg.

"Playing hooky?" Greg asked.

"That was the plan."

"You're the third one today."

"I am?"

Greg nodded. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, which made him lose major hot points. I made out with a smoker once. He stank of stale smoke and his mouth tasted like bitter ash. It was a shame because he was a great kisser.

"Got a light?" Greg asked.

I patted my pockets as if I could find one by magic. "Sorry."

Greg removed the cigarette from his lips and stuffed it back into the pack. "So, you doing something special or just ditching to get out of a test?"

"I'm meeting someone."

"A lovers' tryst, huh?" Greg chuckled.

"I don't know yet. Hopefully." I raised my hand with my fingers crossed.

"Good luck, kid. I'm rooting for you." He gestured to the gate. "Better get going before your lady thinks you're standing her up."

"Right." I smiled politely—choosing not to bog down Greg with the details of my sex life—and jogged through the gate. I crossed the street and walked down the block to the gas station where I'd told Clay to meet me.