I wanted to tell Sketch about the patrol.

  About the Greenway Frill at the playground, about how it had crouched in the shadow of a jungle gym like it belonged there. About how Lillibet barely broke a sweat and Theo turned into somebody half feral with a sword.

  But every time Theo’s name came up in passing—someone mentioning him in class, or me starting to say, Theo said—Sketch would go a little still.

  It was subtle. A tightening at the shoulders. His mouth flattening like he’d pressed pause on himself. Then he’d redirect the conversation with surgical precision—anyway, did you finish the worksheet, oh hey did you know—

  So I kept it to myself.

  Instead, we talked about school.

  About how my life had basically turned into an anime—secret academy, elemental power-ups, random boss fights in the middle of the week—and how none of that made Algebra care. We spread notebooks across the dorm kitchen table, legs tangled around chair rungs, half-eaten granola bars pushed aside to make room for graph paper.

  Sketch had been assigned a tutor too. Between Vinh and whoever Northbridge had unleashed on him, we were both slowly clawing our way up to not drowning.

  Eventually, I circled around to the thing that had been poking at the back of my brain all evening.

  “So,” I said, chewing on the end of my pen, “what did Cho say? You know, after she kicked me out of the office.”

  His whole face lit up.

  “Oh! Actually, it’s pretty exciting,” he said, suddenly he was sitting up straighter, like his spine had just remembered its job. “They have these books. Old ones. Damaged. They want to make new ones—guides. Like field manuals.”

  He pushed his math worksheet aside, hands already sketching shapes in the air, lines and curves ghosting through space.

  “She’s got me working with people,” he went on. “Not all from the school. Some people from Baltimore, even some Europeans. Last week, there was a pair who flew in from China! To talk to me.” He laughed, disbelieving coloring his words. “Can you believe that?”

  I smiled despite myself.

  “These people bring in pages from the originals,” he said, warming to it. “Or copies, or sometimes just descriptions. And I…fix them. Redraw what the damaged pictures are supposed to look like.”

  “That’s your job?” I asked. “Like, official job?”

  He nodded, grinning. “Yesterday someone came in with something they don’t even have a record of. Something new. Or something that’s been really good at hiding.” He shrugged, pride leaking through. “He wasn’t as easy to work with as you—less patient, more ‘just put the claws there’—but we got there.”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  He leaned back, satisfied. “Anyway, that’s my job. I’m…helping rebuild the guides.”

  I stared at him for a second, warmth blooming low in my chest.

  “Wow, Sketch,” I said. “That’s…really perfect.”

  He flushed immediately, ducking his head over his notebook. I caught the small, helpless smile he tried—and failed—to hide.

  ***

  We were cutting it close for Algebra, hustling down the Humanities hall with our notebooks hugged to our chests. Sketch was mid?rant about how people who said it’s just algebra deserved to step on Legos when movement ahead made him stop cold.

  Theo.

  Coming toward us, backpack slung over one shoulder, grin already warming up like he expected applause.

  I felt Sketch stiffen beside me.

  “Uh—hey, I, um, forgot something in my locker,” he blurted.

  He didn’t even wait for me to answer. Just pivoted on his heel and practically scurried down a cross?hall that didn’t go anywhere near his locker.

  “Sketch—” I called, but he was already gone.

  My hackles went up.

  Theo saw my expression as he reached me. His grin faltered.

  “Hey, Sinclair—”

  “What did you do to him?” I snapped.

  His smile slipped all the way off. “Nothing,” he said, too fast. “Just a little fun.”

  “Spill,” I said. “Now.”

  He sighed, shoulders slumping a fraction, like he’d been inconvenienced. “Okay, so. It’s like this. Attraction’s a spectrum,” he said, suddenly sounding like he was reciting a pamphlet. “Everyone’s different. Picture a line with ‘boy’ at one end and ‘girl’ at the other.”

  My stomach sank.

  “Your buddy Sketch?” he continued. “His scale slides all the way to girl.”

  He held up his hand, thumb and forefinger almost touching.

  “Almost,” he added. “There’s a tiny gap.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I love myself a gap.”

  He was amused.

  I was not.

  “Cut. It. Out,” I said, each word its own bullet. “Starting now. Leave him alone.”

  The flippant look faded. Something calculated clicked on behind his eyes.

  “Well,” he said slowly, “he’s pretty cute. But I could be persuaded.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Persuaded how?”

  “Go out with me,” he said.

  “What?”

  “One date.” He shrugged, like it was the smallest ask in the world. “It’s nothing. A few hours of your time. And I promise not to play with your friend anymore unless he comes looking.”

  He tilted his head, studying me. “Deal?”

  “You—” My voice went up a notch. “You did this to blackmail me into a date?!”

  “Whoa.” He put his hands up, glancing around. A couple of kids nearby were already watching. He pointed at me, loud now. “Girl’s delusional.”

  Then he dropped the act and shot me a flat look.

  “So not my style,” he muttered. “I’m just taking advantage of an opportunity. You want something, I want something. It’s fair.”

  I hated that a small, ugly part of me understood the math.

  Sketch didn’t feel safe. That was on Theo. But there was something I could do to fix it.

  I chewed it for half a second.

  “Fine,” I said.

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Fine,” I repeated. “One date. Nowhere dark. Nowhere alone.”

  His smile came back, slow and sharp.

  “Deal,” he said.

  And somewhere down the hall, the bell rang.