“What are you talking about? You came to me.” His breath was raspy, muffled by her hair, and Sawyer paused, anxiety welling up inside her. She had come to him. He only wanted to help. Her head started to spin. He was trying to help…right?

He pressed against her once more, his belt buckle digging into her, and something inside of her snapped. Terror—and anger—shot through her.

“No!” She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and brought her knee up, hard and fast, catching him off guard and between the legs. Mr. Hanson groaned and doubled over, grabbing her ponytail. Sawyer stumbled backward, wincing at the dried-leaf sound of strands of her hair breaking as Mr. Hanson pulled against her. She pushed away again, hand clawed, nails raking over his cheeks, leaving an angry red wake puckering his skin.

“Jesus, Sawyer!”

“Stay away from me! I have pepper spray!” She held her backpack in front of her like a shield, blindly digging through the front pocket while keeping her eyes fixed on Mr. Hanson. He pressed his palms forward and chuckled, the sound shooting ice water through her veins.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking. I was just trying to offer you some homework help.” He crossed the room in three long strides and pulled open the door. “I’m sorry if you misunderstood.”

Sawyer shook her head, willing herself not to cry. “No, I didn’t misunderstand. You—you—”

Mr. Hanson crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned one hip against his desk. There was a hint of a smile on his lips—Sawyer couldn’t tell if it was kind or sly—and one eyebrow was quirked. She could feel the cheek-reddening heat in her face, and a strand of hair was pulled out of her mussed ponytail, flopping in front of her eyes. But Mr. Hanson looked fresh and at ease. Sawyer stumbled back, her mind tumbling.

“You—you did.”

She tried to force what happened to the forefront of her mind, but already it was slipping behind the haze of self-doubt.

Kevin always said she overreacted. He said she was oversensitive, that she always took things the wrong way. Maybe this was one of those times?

Sawyer snuck a glance at Mr. Hanson through the filter of her chestnut–colored hair.

“I appreciate you coming in for homework help, Sawyer, but you should get going now. The building is almost empty.” He cocked his, head pressing his lips to into a thin smile. “You never know what’s lurking out there after dark.”

Sawyer glanced down the deserted hall and back at Mr. Hanson. His smile took on a sinister edge, the glint in his eyes unmistakably challenging. She tore down the hallway, the heels of her boots slapping the linoleum, the sharp sound bouncing off the walls and echoing in her ears. She didn’t breathe until she burst through the double doors onto the campus lawn. She took one look at the darkening sky, then doubled over, hands on knees, tears and snot rolling over her cheeks and dripping from her chin.

“Sawyer?” Logan’s voice was kind and tentative. “Are you okay?”

She straightened up quickly, used the heel of her hand to swipe at her eyes and chin. She sniffed, forced a small smile, and masked a hiccup.

“Logan, hi.” She saw the polite concern in his cocker-spaniel eyes and opened her mouth, but she stopped herself when Mr. Hanson’s icy glare and challenging smile flashed in her mind. She felt like he was all around her, like his breath was still bathing her neck. Her skin burned where his fingers had been. “I’m okay, thanks. It’s just that—”

“I know,” he said softly.

Sawyer’s stomach seized. “You do?”

“Kevin.”

“Kevin?” Sawyer paused for a beat and then pumped her head. “Right, Kevin.” She shirked off the guilt that pricked at the back of her neck for using Kevin—what happened to Kevin—to cover. She dug in her pack for her car keys. “I should get going. I didn’t have track. My parents are probably wondering where I am.” She knew she was babbling, but it felt somehow comfortable to talk about normal things.

The hard crack of the double doors opening behind her stopped her, made her heart drop to her already weak knees.

“Sawyer Dodd. Just the young lady I was looking for.” Mr. Hanson’s voice—light, unaffected—oozed through Sawyer like a searing poison, and everything inside her tightened, went on high alert. She didn’t turn to face him. She heard Logan rattle around in his bag, heard him pull out something cellophane, and everything dropped into slow motion, the tiniest, most inconsequential sounds—cellophane tearing, Logan chewing—became suddenly deafening.

“Oh, hello there, Logan.”

Sawyer didn’t have to look at him to know that Mr. Hanson was smiling at her. She could feel his stare, his breath coating every inch of her.

“Hey, Mr. Hanson. Want one?” Logan asked, offering up his pack of peanut butter crackers.

“No, thanks. I’m allergic to peanuts, remember? And actually, I was looking for Sawyer. She forgot her Spanish test. She must have been in some hurry to get away today.”

“Sorry.” Sawyer’s voice sounded robotic, automatic, and she felt herself turn slowly, but she kept her eyes fixed on Mr. Hanson’s scuffed leather topsiders. “I was in a hurry.”

Mr. Hanson held out the test to her, and she pinched it between forefinger and thumb. He didn’t relinquish it to her until she met his eyes. They were flat, serpentine.

“Why don’t you come to my classroom and we can talk?”

A jolt of anger shot through her. “No.” It was short-lived, and Sawyer felt her knees begin to shake. A bead of sweat rolled between her breasts and she heard Logan crunch another cracker, chew it loudly.

“I promised Logan I would drive him home, and I’ve already made him late.” She crumpled the test in her left hand, locked Logan’s wrist with her right. Logan stood quickly, eyes wide with surprise, the half package of peanut butter crackers rolling off his lap. “Sorry, Logan. I’ll take you home now. My car’s in the lot.”

Sawyer hurried down the steps, dragging Logan behind her. Finally, he shook her hand from his and paused. “I didn’t ask you to drive me home. I can take the bus. It’ll be here at 3:50.”

Sawyer looked over his shoulder and saw Mr. Hanson still standing in front of the double doors, a suspicious smile on his face.

“That’s almost an hour away. You’ll be waiting here alone. I can drive you. It’s no big deal.”

“I have to go to work. I work at Cassini’s Market.” Logan looked skeptical. “It’s pretty far out of the way.”

“You’re in luck. I’m going pretty far out of the way. Besides, I could use the company.”

Logan paused, considering. “Okay, I guess.”

“This one’s mine.” Sawyer sunk her key into the lock, her back toward Mr. Hanson. She didn’t want to turn and look. She told herself she wouldn’t turn and look. She threw her backpack into the car, buckled her belt, and glanced, surreptitiously, out the corner of her eye as she turned the key. Mr. Hanson was no longer standing on the steps, watching her.

Somehow, that didn’t make Sawyer feel any better.

“Nice car. I normally only like classics, but this is pretty cool.” Logan’s voice snapped through Sawyer’s brain, and she turned the key and hit the gas, shoving him hard against his seat.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“I don’t blame you for being in a rush to get out of here.” His smile was wide and slightly goofy.

Sawyer smiled, suddenly feeling comfortable as she pulled out of the lot, leaving Hawthorne High in her rearview mirror.

“Do you always wait almost an hour to catch the bus?”

Logan stared silently out the window for so long that Sawyer wasn’t sure he had heard her. “No,” he said finally. “Only when I miss the 2:47.”

“Stuck in class or something?”

“Something like that.”

Sawyer chewed on her bottom lip. “Can I ask you something, Logan?”

He shrugged, narrow shoulders hugging his ears. “I guess.”

“How come you’re wearing your gym clothes? I could have sworn I saw you in jeans earlier.”

She saw a muscle in Logan’s jaw tremble, then stop. “I…” He drifted off, sucked in a sharp breath, and then started again. “I was wearing jeans. They’re wet.”

Sawyer’s eyebrows went up, and Logan turned around in his seat, eyes wide. “No. No, no, not like that. I didn’t pee myself or anything. I—I sort of fell in the fountain.”

“The school fountain? How do you ‘sort of’ fall in that fountain? There’s a three-foot wall around it.”

Logan pinned her with a glare. “Ask the football team.”

They were silent until Sawyer’s car nosed out of town and onto the highway.

“So, you work at the market?”

Logan nodded, a pink triangle of tongue darting across his lower lip. “My brother got me the job last year.”

“Oh, does he work there too?”

“He did through high school. He’s a cop now.”

“Did he go to Hawthorne? I don’t think I remember him.”

Logan turned to look at Sawyer full in the face. “Stephen Haas?”

Sawyer’s mouth formed a tiny o of surprise. “Stephen’s your brother?” She shook the look off her face.

“You don’t have to hide your amazement. Nobody puts two and two together. We’re not exactly”— Logan looked down at his thin legs, shook his narrow, balsa wood arms—“similar. Anyway, he’s a cop now. You can exit here.” Logan tugged on his bottom lip. “Um, Sawyer? Why did you want to take me home today?” He gave a small chuckle, somewhere between self-effacing and hopeful. “I mean, I know you don’t like me like that. We’re not exactly friends.”

Sawyer turned to see Logan, head bent, eyes studying his hands in his lap.