“Mea culpa,” she said as she raised one hand. “I’ll do better. Isabelle may actually need to watch me the next time I try to cook.” She slid half of the menus toward me. “Now help me pick out what’s for dinner before Rob gets home. Maybe we can have Lebanese for dinner. It’s been a while since we’ve had shawarma.”

I grabbed a pencil and took a menu from the stack, wishing the artwork I needed to tweak for my new Chicago deadline was as easy to fix as ordering out.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Ally stormed into the art studio at the end of lunch a couple of days later. “I have had it,” she declared, waving her arms in dramatic fashion. “Kyle is still missing half of his marks, and I don’t think he’s even learned our number.”

I glanced up at her for half a second before I returned to my work. I’d made the Chicago poster my top priority, even taking Mr. Jorgensen up on his offer of skipping the European history quiz so I could work in the art studio while Mr. Collins taught art history in the adjoining classroom. As fourth period turned into lunch, I stayed where I was. I was just grateful for a quiet place to work, even though I wasn’t completely hidden from everyone.

“Opening night’s in, like, four weeks,” I said, frowning at my work. “I thought you guys were approaching the home stretch.”

“We’re supposed to be,” she replied, “but ‘We Both Reached for the Gun’ is a mess. You know, the ventriloquist act? He has to get the blocking right and know the lyrics or it’ll look like I don’t know what I’m doing.” Ally was agitated. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her this upset.

“Have you talked to Bianca? She knows Kyle pretty well, right?”

Curls bounced everywhere as she shook her head. “I haven’t seen her. Just came from rehearsals. Mandatory lunch rehearsals! Can you believe it? All because stupid Kyle can’t get this stupid number right.” She pulled a little bag containing half a sandwich from her backpack. “How’s the new poster coming?”

I scowled. “Awful.” I pointed to the original version I’d pinned to a bulletin board. “That’s what it used to look like. I got the lettering right, but now I’m trying to do something different with the vignettes in the letters, but the people’s faces all look weird.”

“So take them out.”

“I can’t take out the vignettes. That’s the best part of it.”

“No, the faces.” She looked up as if in thought while she chewed. “You know how costume designers always show their stuff on models without faces?” she said. “Like in their portfolios or whatever. Can you do something like that?”

I picked up my eraser and carefully removed details from the figures’ faces in the first C. I sat back, added some shadowing to the empty ovals, and tilted my head to study it. “This may actually work, Katz.” I grinned at her. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” The bell rang, and she shoved the uneaten part of her sandwich back into its bag. “Are you talking to Jake yet?” she said, shouldering her backpack.

I shoved my pencil case into my bag and zipped it shut. “I’m not not talking to him.”

“So that’s a ‘no.’” She fell in step with me as we left the studio. “Wait. Is this still about that whole ‘going out with Clover’ thing?”

I didn’t say anything and fought to keep my expression neutral. It was easy for her to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal. Her emotions weren’t the ones all jumbled up.

“You’re not going to get any answers unless you actually have a real conversation,” she said. “I have three brothers, you know. They don’t talk unless you talk to them first, they won’t ask questions unless you ask them, and they don’t know anything unless you spell it out for them, preferably with small words.”

“But how could he not know?” I wondered aloud.

“’Cause he’s a guy? I mean, they’re tragically bad at reading minds.” Ally smiled and waved to some people as we passed them and added, “And anyway, it’s not like you can expect him to know what’s up with you when it doesn’t seem like you’ve figured it out yourself.”

I glanced at her from the side. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I don’t think you know what you want.” She pulled my arm to stop me. “Look, if you guys are just friends, and that’s all you want, you’re being a terrible friend. Friends are happy when their friends find someone they like going out with.” She gave me a knowing smile. “But if you want my opinion—”

“I don’t.”

“—I think you’re in love with him.” I scowled, and she gave me a quick half-hug. “See you later.”

Inspiration struck, and I called after her. Several people, including Ally, turned.

“When does rehearsal start?” I said, trotting toward her. “Four-thirty?”

“No, call time’s at four. Why?”

“D’you think Mrs. Riley will let me sit in? You guys are starting run-throughs, right?”

She shook her head. “We’re supposed to, but I doubt we will. Probably running through the stupid ventriloquist act a bunch more times.” She narrowed her eyes and growled.

“Okay,” I said. “I want to get more ideas for those vignettes. Not a lot’s jumping out at me from the script.”

“Then you should come. The worst that’ll happen is Riley will kick you out.” She gave me another half-hug. “We’re going to be late. Have fun in bio. And maybe actually talk to Jake today?”

She disappeared into the crowded hallway, and I trudged toward the science rooms, hoping my biology teacher wouldn’t make good on his threat of a pop quiz.

****

Mr. Ellison was way too animated for a Wednesday afternoon. Earlier that week, we’d started the unit on genetics, which he said was incomplete without a thorough study of Gregor Mendel. He’d complained about the sparse coverage about him in our textbooks, so we spent most of the period that day watching a documentary about him. Or, rather, Mr. Ellison played a documentary while most of the class took a post-lunch nap.

He waxed so enthusiastic about the man he called the “Father of Genetics,” I’d decided my biology teacher was probably a frustrated geneticist or something. Either that, or he was a card-carrying member of the Gregor Mendel Fan Club.

“I wish Westgate would build a greenhouse so you guys could try to replicate his pea plant experiments,” he said almost wistfully when he flipped the lights back on. “It would take a few years to gather as much data as Mendel had, of course, which is why geneticists use fruit flies and bacteria these days for breeding experiments. But just being able to control pollination—” Brian Tucker’s hand shot up, and Mr. Ellison paused before he said, “Yes, Brian?”

“How do you control pollination?” He leaned forward in earnest. “I mean, can’t plants just do it with themselves?”

“That’s called self-fertilization,” Mr. Ellison said. “And, yes, most plants can do that, which is why a greenhouse is a perfect environment for plant experimentation because there’s no wind to shake the pollen into the pistil, and no insects to transport pollen from one flower to another.”

“But plants can still kind of have sex, right?” Brian asked. “It’s not the same as, like, people, but they have eggs and sperm, right?” Some of my classmates giggled, but Brian’s posture never changed. The guy was focused.

Mr. Ellison beamed. “As a matter of fact, yes, they do. Their reproductive process is different from the animal kingdom, of course, but—”

The bell rang, and everyone leapt to their feet, shoving laptops and notebooks into their bags. Mr. Ellison called out something after us as we streamed out of the classroom, probably to remind us of our homework assignments, but I doubted anyone heard.

Jake was already several yards away when I hurried into the hall. He moved slowly with his shoulders hunched, and guilt nibbled at my stomach. I never would’ve admitted it to her, but Ally was right. I’d done everything I could to avoid Jake that week, and I was being a terrible friend. Just because my feelings were all messed up didn’t mean I had to be totally rude about it.