He nodded. “Okay, no problem.” He took a step back and looked around.

I’d hurt his feelings. I had a chance to take it back, to tell him I didn’t mean it. But I didn’t.

Instead I said, “Cool, thanks,” and let him walk away. Then I turned back to my locker, trying to ignore the contemptuous stares of the cheerleaders. I slammed the door shut and walked past them.

In the courtyard I went right by the Doom Squad. No one even looked up. Not that I wanted to hang out with them, but it would have been nice if someone called me over. Whatever.

Somehow I ended up in the library. I thought I’d be safe there—it’s always empty. Today was no different, except that right in my path, seated smack in the middle of one of the ancient, cracked, orange vinyl love seats was a single student—Carter. I sighed and walked over to him.

“Alexis Warren, you’re stalking me,” he said, his eyes wide.

“I swear, I had no idea you’d be in here,” I said.

He smiled a twisted little smile. “No, I’m flattered.” He looked around, kind of disoriented in (I hate to say) a very cute way. “But…I’ll go.”

All of a sudden he didn’t seem like the worst company in the world. “You were here first.”

He shrugged and reached for his bag.

“You can hang out if you want,” I said. He was hoisting the bag over his shoulder.

I would have to come right out with it.

“Stay,” I said, my heart beginning to pound.

Clear enough. He settled back against the worn sofa and smiled. “I described your house to my mother, and she’s horrified. She’s dying to see it.”

I sat down on the love seat across from him. “That’s just what we need. Architects making fun of our home.”

He studied the leather-tasseled zipper pull on his bag. “Obviously you don’t know anything about the art scene in Surrey. The worse something is, the more they like it.”

I had to laugh. He sounded like some character out of a movie from the 1940s, always having a smart comeback. He could almost be cute, if he weren’t such a Ken doll.

“Sorry I was rude before,” I said.

“Which time?”

“Oh, ha-ha. I haven’t been that bad.” I didn’t feel up to going into detail.

He looked at the ceiling and held up his hand like in Hamlet, when Hamlet holds the skull. “That is without a doubt the stupidest question ever asked in the history of humanity.” He balled his hand into a fist as if he were crushing something.

“I didn’t say it like that,” I said.

He shrugged. “That’s how I remember it. It’s what I put in my blog, anyway.”

I must have looked really horrified, because he burst out laughing.

“I’m just kidding,” he said. “Really.”

“You really are a politician,” I said. Only it kind of didn’t come out as jokey as I meant it. In fact, it came out so unjokey that it sucked all the fun right out of the conversation. Way to go, Alexis.

Carter was quiet for a minute, then gestured to my clothes. “At least you remembered your red and white for School Colors Day.”

I looked down at the short-sleeved red T-shirt I’d layered over a long-sleeved white one. “Oh no,” I said, laughing. “I swear I didn’t do this on purpose.”

“Your reputation is about to take a huge hit,” he said. Carter, on the other hand, was proudly sporting an immaculate Surrey High sweatshirt.

“I think yours will be worse,” I said, “if any of your friends see you with me.”

He gave a little shrug. “I think you might be worth it.”

Hearing that sent my brain spinning into confused blankness. I tried to show with my face that I didn’t attach any importance to what he’d said, but I just succeeded in raising my left eyebrow really high.

He raised an eyebrow back and smiled. “I’m just remembering the first time I ever saw you.” “On the TV show,” I said.

He shook his head. “No, before that. It was my first day at Surrey—I transferred two weeks into the school year, in the middle of September—and I was waiting in the office for my mom to sign some papers. I was listening to the secretaries, and they were all scandalized by some student who’d been caught putting bumper stickers that said ‘Gas Guzzler’ on every SUV in the parking lot.”

Oh, yeah. My proactive environmentalist phase.

“And then you came in, and the principal came out to meet you, and you told her you’d skipped her car because you knew she was on the waiting list for a hybrid.”

Yup. Strangely enough, that didn’t really change Mrs. Ames’s view of the situation.

He seemed to look off into the distance and smiled again. “That was the first time. The second time… How could I forget?”

He meant that stupid TV show. “I’d actually rather you forgot, if you don’t mind,” I said.

“What are you talking about? You were brilliant. Utterly amazing. You cut right through the drivel and made everyone else look stupid. And I’m not just saying that for the obvious reason.” He smiled at me, his eyes squinting appraisingly. “I said to myself, ‘Carter, there’s a girl that you need to knock down in the hallway sometime.’”

Without thinking about it, I clammed up and sat back.

“What’s wrong?” Carter asked. “I just…I can’t do this.” “What, take a compliment?”

“I can’t be me and hang out with you being you.” I tried to think of a way to say it. “I mean, you’re nicer than I thought you would be, and it’s cool about the architecture, but I…”

He leaned close to me and swallowed. “What?” he asked. His voice was low.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Just say something real. Everyone always just tries so hard, and it all comes out the same. I just want someone to say something real.”

He broke his glance away from mine and looked at the carpet.

“Forget it,” I said. “I’m sorry. That was rude, even for me. I’ll go.”

I grabbed my backpack.

“I tried to kill myself last year,” Carter said.

My grip loosened and the bag fell back to the couch.

“And I had to transfer schools because my dad”—he laughed bitterly—“my dad is a psychiatrist, and if word got around, it would ruin his business.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again without saying anything.

“And nobody here knows,” Carter said quietly, looking into my eyes without blinking. “Well, except you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. Was that what you were supposed to say to someone who was suicidal?

“Don’t be,” he said. “It’s funny…I’m serious about Surrey Survey. I know you didn’t mean to, but you really helped me. It made things a lot easier. Overnight, I had friends and something to do with my time. It was…convenient.”

I aim to please, after all.

“So what else do you do?” he asked. “Besides, you know, the TV appearances and the environmental terrorism.”

“Nothing much,” I said. We were back to the superficial stuff, but that was fine by me. One thing was certain—I’d think long and hard before I asked someone to get real with me in the future.

“Nothing? No sports? No arts and crafts?” He leaned toward me.

“Oh. Well, I really like photography.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Really?”

I laughed. “Yeah, really. I take black-and-white pictures. I have a darkroom in my house.”

“It’s my civic duty to ask why you aren’t on the yearbook staff,” he said.

I recoiled. “Are you kidding?”

He stared at me very seriously for a few seconds, then laughed. “Yes, I’m kidding. I know people on the yearbook staff. They’re not your type. And I don’t think I could sleep at night knowing I’d unleashed you on them.”

I exhaled. Carter knew how to keep a girl on her toes.

“So what do you photograph?” he asked.

“Oh, you know…” I said. I thought about explaining my current photographic mystery, but thought I should keep things light. “Lately I’ve been experimenting a lot with this German philosophy called gestalt. Not just taking a photo of a bowl of fruit, but of the table it’s on, the room it’s in. How it all adds up to make one image. Like, a house at night and the trees behind it and the moon and stars.” And a mystery glow in the tree.