With a sigh, I put my tablet away and fetch the old-school tools.

As I slide back into my seat, I say, “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

She keeps sketching circles, and the more she adds the more it’s starting to look like a wormhole or something.

“I’m Jenna,” she says, not looking up from her circles.

I pull the cap off a red marker. “Sloane.”

“You’re new.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Did you just move here?”

I study the paper for a second, try to come up with a concept, and then just go for it, swiping red across the page in a swooping curl. “Yep,” I say. “From New York.”

New York. The Big Apple. There’s my inspiration.

I follow up my first swoop with another in the opposite direction. With an idea to follow, I lose myself in the design. Shiny red skin. Green and black stem. Some shading. A long shadow stretching across the—

“Time,” Mrs. K calls. “Supplies down, everyone.”

I lean back and evaluate my little apple. Not bad for a fifteen-minute free sketch.

“Welcome to the first day of advanced graphic design. I’m Mrs. K,” she says, “and I see a lot of familiar faces here, and a few new ones. For those of you who are new to NextGen or new to me, I like to start each class with a free sketch, followed by a presentation.” She looks at Circle Girl. “Jenna, can you start?”

Jenna holds up her drawing, swinging it in an arc so the entire class can see. “I’m Jenna Nash.”

“Very nice,” Mrs. K says. “I like your use of repeating shapes.”

Jenna sits back down, beaming.

Mrs. K shifts her gaze to me.

I stand and hold up my apple drawing on display. “Sloane Whitaker. New Yorker.”

The teacher takes a step closer, like she’s trying to get a better look. “Very nice.” She squints. “I like the texture in your shading. And the bold color choices.” She smiles and looks at me. “You like Rothko?”

I nod. “But I like Kandinsky more.”

“So do I.” Her face cracks into a smile. “Welcome to NextGen.”

As she turns her attention to the next student—a boy with flaming orange hair he wasn’t born with and a piercing in every possible location—I sink back into my seat. Well, if I’m going to be stuck in Nowheresville for the time being, at least I have a design teacher with taste.

After AGD, I have lunch and free period. NextGen is a closed campus, which means I can’t leave to find food. Since it’s the first day of school and I don’t have any work to actually work on or friends to sit with—and I’m not looking to make any on this temporary detour—I decide to find a quiet corner where I work on finishing up the sketches for the next Graphic Grrl set while I eat. I was prepared for Austin to be a hellish pit of heat and humidity—it is Texas, after all—but amazingly enough the climate is not that different from New York in summer. And, if I’m being honest, it smells better.

So grabbing a lunch to go—an egg salad sandwich from the cafeteria and an apple juice from the vending machine by the front office—I head outside. I know exactly where I want to work.

At the center of the big geometric web-work of sidewalks is a giant sculpture. I can’t tell exactly what it’s supposed to be. It looks like someone dipped a Pokémon in stainless steel and set it on a square granite base. Still, it’s pretty cool. And since it’s after noon, there’s a bit of a shadow on the east side.

As I approach, I sling my backpack onto the ground and then drop to the grass. The base of the statue is still warm from the passing sun. It feels good on my back.

I close my eyes and let my spine connect with the warm stone. If I imagine hard enough, maybe I can make myself believe I’m sitting on the roof of SODA with Tash or against the arch in Washington Square Park. Only without the smell of pee and body odor.

Though I’m tempted to take a nap—everything about this spot feels nice and relaxing—I need to make progress on my sketches. Once I started publishing regularly, every Sunday, my fans started getting pretty rabid about it. If I’m even a few hours late they start hounding Graphic Grrl on her social media accounts. So I unwrap my sandwich, pull out my tablet, and get to work.

I lose myself in the process. The collection of shapes that create Graphic Grrl have become part of my physical memory. My hand goes on autopilot. I’ve been drawing her since the seventh grade, in one form or another.

Freshman year I showed some of my strips to Tash. Before that they were my secret, the hidden art I had never shown anyone. She convinced me to start publishing them anonymously online. It’s been our secret ever since.

Mom and Dad don’t know. Even Dylan doesn’t.

I’d been on the verge of telling Brice, but, well, that all went to hell in an instant, so I’m glad I didn’t. What a nightmare that would have been.

Graphic Grrl and I have been through a lot. Bad breakups. Fights with Tash. The Incident.

And now, the fallout.

As much as I miss home right now, as long as I have Graphic Grrl in my pocket then I think I will get through things all right.

“The last girl who sat under this statue died in a grisly axe murder,” Tru’s voice says from behind me.

I immediately click out of my drawing app, hiding Graphic Grrl safely away and swapping her for my class schedule, which I had captured in a pic and then tossed in the nearest recycling bin.

Austin apparently loves its recycling. Three big bins—blue for paper, green for glass, and red for plastic—are at practically every corner. And each building also has extra bins outside for cardboard, metal, and compost.

I’m all for saving the planet, but I don’t think I’ve seen a real trash can.

Tru’s shadow moves over me. “They say she still haunts the school.”

“Too bad for her I don’t believe in ghosts,” I toss back.

“She’ll haunt you for that.”

I ignore him. My next—and last, thank heaven for small miracles—class of the day starts in ten minutes: 3D rendering in Building F. I have plenty of time to hit the girls’ room first and dump my lunch containers in the recycle bins on the way.

I start across the lawn toward Building F. Tru falls in step beside me.

“Is there a reason you’re following me?”

“Two, actually.”

He doesn’t elaborate and I really don’t want to ask, but I can’t help myself. “And those reasons are?”

“One,” he says with a big grin, “if you recall, I am your official campus guide for the day.”

“My official campus guide who ditched me at the first opportunity,” I throw back.

“And two,” he says with a chiding tone, like he’s annoyed by my interruption, “I happen to also have class in Building F next period.”

He flashes me a smile that I’m sure he thinks is charming-as-hell. All I see is a flashing sign that says Danger. Whether or not I actually believe he’s reformed, nothing about Tru Dorsey is anything but trouble for me. Trouble in the form of Mom canceling our deal. Trouble in the form of repeating the Brice-induced heartbreak. Trouble in the form of an attachment in a place I don’t intend to be for any longer than absolutely necessary.

I walk faster. With any luck, the class will go by quickly so I can get home and back to Graphic Grrl.

Chapter Four

Tense commute, the sequel.

Mom was more than half an hour late to pick me up. She sent me a bunch of running late and sorry be there soon and almost there messages.

Like I was in a hurry to spend another awkwardly silent car ride. I probably could have walked home in the time it took her to get there. But instead, I worked. I got more than half of my Graphic Grrl sketches done.

I’m used to waiting on Mom. Work and errands and appointments always seem to take ten times longer than she expects. At least back home I didn’t need her to get me from school.