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Ben did not go back to class.

On the way to AP Lit, he started to imagine how everyone would stare at him as soon as he opened the door. He pictured to himself how they would stop and pause, how the room would fall unnaturally silent, how the conversations would only slowly bubble back to what they were before, with maybe a bit of tension still left in the air. He knew that no one in that room would ever treat him the same.

As his shoes squeaked across the linoleum tiles, Ben remembered what Lynn had told him, shortly after their escape.

This shit'll stay on you like a tattoo, man.

You ready to be a criminal the rest of your life?

Ben took a breath, realizing he was already standing at the door to class. He looked down at the handle, peeked through the plexiglass window, saw Hannah still sitting in her chair, felt a surge of very indescribable emotion, and he turned and walked away.

He wandered the halls, trying to control his thoughts. He went to his locker for no particular reason. He read over the student project posters in the science wing. He exited the main building and did a circuit around the football fields and went back inside. Feeling a little bold, he took a stroll through the hallway next to the gym, taking a glance at Hannah's locker and the curtains of plastic still hanging over the construction site.

Just like Rosalin said—

Ben grimaced.

Just like Lynn's mom had said, a few of the laminated wooden panels had been visibly peeled from the foundation, sticking up like a raw hangnail among the smoothness of the floor. The construction workers had abandoned further work on the concrete in order to realign an entire section of the gym. Far in the back, a few workers were dismantling the pullout bleachers in order to clear the space. No one looked happy.

Despite all his stress, Ben smirked as he walked away.

Eventually, the bell rang, and he went to third period orchestra, and he pretended to practice some background music for a play the drama class was hosting next week, and the bell rang again, and he went and got his lunch, and all the while he was still dissecting every little thing that happened in the vice principal's office.

Ben frowned as he walked up the hill toward the portable classrooms, where Lynn had asked him to meet.

Lynn's mom is the vice principal of the school. I wish I saw it coming, but, man, that is definitely some shit. The apple has fallen very far from the tree.

Not that I'm much better.

He paused outside the gap between a chain link fence and the back of a portable, which led to the little hollow Lynn had taken him to before. He could hear voices through the weeds and trash. For a moment, Ben felt very weird going to sit down with a group for lunch. He had been eating in the library for such a long time that he'd almost forgotten what it was like to. . . .

You know.

Have friends.

Once again, he imagined walking toward the group, and the conversation trickling to a stop, and everyone staring at him like he didn't really belong. It had happened before. A long time ago, Hannah had tricked him into sitting down with her friends during lunch, only for the rest of the group to make fun of him as he sat by himself and barely talked. He had fallen for that four separate times before he realized no one wanted him there.

Right now, Ben heard a few more voices behind the weeds.

One of them was Lynn.

He felt a spike of anxiety and immediately turned and walked away, heading down the hill before anyone could notice he was there, telling himself that he was just avoiding Lynn because her mom wouldn't like them being together anymore, and they all should try to lay low after the incident on Friday. In the end, he really just wanted the safety of being alone.

At the bottom of the hill, his phone vibrated with a text.

Lynn: u coming?

“God fucking damnit," Ben said, out loud.

He turned and walked back up the hill and hoped no one had noticed him being a spaz. He tucked his lunch tray close to his chest and shimmied through the gap behind the portables. The weeds rustled beneath his sneakers. When he turned the corner into the little hollow between the buildings, he saw that Lynn, Brittney, and Dakota were all sitting around the ring of cinderblocks. They watched his entrance.

He paused, feeling afraid.

“Yo!" Lynn said, lighting up. “There he is!"

Brittney flipped her black bang from her eye, giving him a cutesy peace sign in greeting. Dakota blinked at him, nodded, made a devil horn in his hands, and began to rock out to some imaginary music. He looked really, really high.

Go over there. Sit down. Talk to them.

Don't be fucking weird.

“'Sup?" Ben said, strolling over. He noticed that there was a single unused cinderblock sitting right next to Lynn, close to the middle of the group. He wondered if it had been reserved for him. “How's it goin'?"

“You tell me, homie," Lynn replied. “What's up?"

He sat down on the block and began to pick at his lunch, just to be doing something. “Not much, chucklefuck."

“Just borkin' the chortles?" the rat asked.

“Just courtin' the snorts," Ben confirmed.

“Just giggin' the sniggers?"

“Just girthin' the mirth, baby."

There was a pause.

“What the fuck does that mean?" Brittney asked.

Ben and Lynn both broke into snickers, glancing at each other in conspiracy. She slapped his lunch tray, and he kicked her in the shin.

“Ooooo," the chubby hyena said, adjusting her particularly wide ass on the cinderblock. “I have inside jokes with people. Ooooo, look at me, I hang out with the normals. Look at me, I'm Lynn, and I'm so cool."

“Don't be jealous, bitch," Lynn replied.

Brittney held up two furry fingers and stuck her tongue between them, aggressively wagging the ball of her piercing.

“Anyway," Lynn said, turning to Ben. “Dude, so, how's it feel gettin' rolled?"

“Rolled?" he asked.

“Rolled by the cops, man. Rolled the fuck over. Heavy tread, you know?"

“Oh, yeah," Ben said, shrugging, as if the meeting with Lynn's mom hadn't utterly terrified him. “I, uh—you know—I barfed in the trash. So that was cool of me."

The rat blew a raspberry. “Nah, man. Look, that was a righteous barf. That was a barf against the system. That barf has gunked the gears of the oppressive machine. Here on after, that barf'll be referred to as Freedom Sauce."

“Right on, man," Dakota said, strumming an air guitar.

Ben shrugged, looking back toward his lunch. He wondered, briefly, if vomit could be considered an admission of guilt.

“You alright?" Brittney asked, giving him the side eye below her bangs.

“Yeah, yeah," he said, munching a fry. “I'm alright."

There was a pause.

“You sure, dude?" Lynn asked. “That was some nasty shit."

Ben had not at all considered the idea that Lynn and her friends would be concerned for him. In fact, he had assumed they would all try to shut him up before he talked, because he was the newbie of the group and also the weakest link and, of course, most of them had jokingly referred to him as a narc just because he was awkward and shy, so why would they be nice about his feelings?

It took him a moment to speak.

“I, uh—" He swallowed. “Yeah, no, I'm . . . alright. I was just—you know—uh, McNamara said she'd be checking my alibi. I told her I was at the library."

Lynn waved a hand. “She's a fuckin' liar. She'd need a warrant for that shit, and there's no way she goes up to a judge and gets her bacon-ass buddies involved. She'd be drawing attention to her own extortion racket, and she sure as shit is not gonna fuck with her bottom line."

Dakota snickered off to the side, still bobbing his head to an imaginary song. Ben watched him with a little bit of discomfort.

What kind of kid takes drugs at school? Is it weed? Like, acid, or something?

Is he gonna freak out on me?

His feelings must have shown on his face, because Lynn wrapped a pink hand around the edge of his shoulder. Her voice softened considerably. “You're fine, man. Mrs. Oinkerton was trying to bluff you out. When cops don't have shit for proof, they go hard, because they can't meet the arrest quota without gettin' you to spill."

Ben tried to remember everything he'd learned from watching Cops. “I guess."

“Think of it this way—if she had any proof, you'd already be in cuffs."

The thought of being dragged out of school and shoved into the back of a cop car did not reassure Ben at all. When he glanced over at Brittney, the look she was giving Lynn told him the hyena was not very happy, either. For a moment, the silence between them was filled by the sound of Dakota, who was beatboxing beneath his breath.

“Well," Lynn said, still gripping Ben's shoulder. “Sorry my mom rolled on you, man. I knew she'd try some shit like this."

“You knew?" Ben asked.

“I swear to God, dude, she does this all the time. Nails me right under her thumb." The rat motioned a hand between them. “I'd bet my left tit you got called in 'cause she knew you and I were hangin' out. She had no other reason."

Brittney took a sip of her milkshake, holding up her pinky finger like a little girl playing teatime. Her look suggested she'd heard this all before.

Ben frowned. “How would she even know you and I were hanging out?"

“Our teacher," Lynn replied. “The badger dude. What's his name?"

“Mr. Peterson?"

“Yeah, that's it. Him. The fatwad little cunt sucking down coffee like it's shit from the principal's ass. Fuck him and his Golgi bodies."

Ben blew a whistle.

“Fuckin' A, dude," Lynn continued, “I bet you he was told to spy on me. He's not the first teacher to narc like that."

“You're assuming a lot from your mom," Ben said.

“Am I?" She poked him in the hip, pink nose twitching. “How did she act in her office, man? She tried to worm right inside you, didn't she?"

Ben thought back to his time in the elder Solcaster's office. Rosalin had started off with a smile, expressing her sympathies, trying to connect with him like he might expect any other school guidance counselor to try and do. But she had kept going, and she had kept asking questions, and every time Ben had put up resistance, she had always dodged away from the point without actually giving it up, always digging deeper and deeper, right up until he was yelling what he actually thought.

What was even the point of asking about my mom? She was supposed to interrogate me about a break-in at the school. There was even a cop right there in the room, expecting her to be professional. Maybe it was some special technique that principals use to put their students at ease, but honestly . . . it didn't feel that way.

That was really weird, actually.

What the fuck.

Ben sat on his cinderblock and stared at the loose piles of trash on the gravel floor, feeling a moment of disquiet.

“Told you," Lynn said. “That's my mom, right there. She's a psycho bitch."

“Lynn," Brittney said.

“She's a total control freak!"

“Lynn," Brittney said again, as if warning her.

“She's a cunt! She's such a cunt that she has cunts in her cunt. She probably has cunts between her fingers, like a weird monster blob that sprouts cunts and sucks up dicks." The rat spat into the weeds. “That stupid cunt!"

“Lynn!" Brittney snapped her padded fingers, like she was shushing a dog. “Bad girl!"

“Fuck you!" the rat shouted back.

“Breathe it out, bitch! Right now!"

Lynn glared at her, folded her arms, closed her eyes, and took an exaggeratedly deep breath, blowing it out below the edge of her buckteeth. She paused. She took a few more breaths. After that, she sighed.

“You've been getting like that," Brittney said. “Come on."

“Right, yeah, okay. Thanks or whatever."

“What I'm here for, bitch."

“Eat me, slut."

Brittney flashed the peace sign and took a deep pull from her milkshake.

Lynn opened her eyes, rubbing her hands through her whiskers and back out across the tufts of fur, like she was trying to scrub everything away. With a sigh, she shrugged out a pack of Camel menthols and stuck one between her buckteeth. A Hippo lighter clicked open like a switchblade.

Ben scooted back on the cinderblock.

Lynn paused.

“Sorry," he said. “Just, you know . . . it smells." He gestured at his hoodie. “Don't wanna get it on my clothes. My dad'll sniff it right away."

Lynn blinked at him, the cigarette still hinged between her rodent teeth. She stood up from the cinderblock, scooted between everyone's legs, and only lit her cig when she was standing close to the hollow's entrance. When the wind picked up through the chain-link fence, she blew the smoke off to the side. “Better?"

Ben felt guilty for saying anything. “Yeah, sorry."

Lynn shrugged, taking another drag and watching the soccer fields below. For a few moments, the little hollow between the portables was silent, except for Dakota trying to mumble rap Day n' Nite to himself. Brittney nudged Ben's leg with her knee. When he looked at her, the hyena was glancing between him and Lynn with a surprised look on her face. Her eyes asked a silent question.

Ben opened his palms, confused.

Brittney flicked her head toward Lynn, who had her back turned to both of them. There was another silent question.

Ben glanced at Lynn, shrugging.

Brittney furrowed her brow.

Ben glanced between the two girls, even more confused.

Brittney rolled her eyes, batted the black bang from her face, leaned across her cinderblock, and gave him a hard, withering stare.

Ben blushed, opened his mouth, looked at Lynn, and said nothing.

Brittney leaned back and pointed at Lynn again.

Ben shook his head.

Brittney got mad and kicked him in the shin.

Ben waved his hands in a supplicating gesture.

Brittney gave a silent growl.

Ben blinked at her, helpless and afraid.

“Anyway," Lynn said.

The punk rat turned around, taking another drag from her menthol. Ben and Brittney both composed themselves.

“So," Lynn continued, “I was thinking we really ramp this shit up."

“What?" Brittney asked, aloud. “You serious, bitch?"

“Oh, fo' shizzle, my nizzle."

Brittney took a sharp breath, rolling her eyes. Dakota picked up a crumpled can from the weeds while still bobbing to a song.

“Look," Lynn said, blowing smoke from her nostrils. “Friday was a bust. We had one chance to get in there and dump the citric acid and fuck up the concrete lay, and we blew it, and now it's all hard, and now we can't piss in their concrete cum paste until they do another pour." She took a drag. “So we gotta do something else."

Ben looked down at his shoes, feeling guilty.

It's my fault.

I got them to open Hannah's locker.

Shit.

“No," Brittney said. “We gotta lay low, 'cause we almost got fucked and we could really easily get fucked again if we ignore," she waved her milkshake in a circle, “you know, the actual police officer sniffing down our necks."

“McNamara won't do shit," Lynn replied.

“Bitch, we stumbled on her fucking drug operation. You said the drop was, like, thousands of dollars. She's doing some real, actual, serious shit."

Lynn frowned. “I thought we were, too."

Brittney threw up her hands, glancing away. “Yeah, well."

“Well, what?"

“Well," Brittney said, “I don't know."

Lynn's frown increased. “You don't know what?"

“I don't know if this is a good idea anymore."

Lynn snorted out smoke. “I told you—"

“Look," Brittney said, like she was trying to heed something off, “we can just cool it for a week or two, maybe three, see how things look, and take it from there. Okay? Let's just . . . see how things look?"

“Oh, what," Lynn said, “you get rolled just the once, and you're already done?"

“Lynn—"

“Hey, yeah. You know what? Let's all give up! Right now! I mean, wow, who could've guessed that being a rebel might be slightly difficult? Who knew there would be literally any risk involved? Not me! I'm just a weekend warrior, apparently! I only want to be a punk when it's easy!"

Brittney let her black bang fall across her eye. The other eye remained locked on Lynn, watching with silent disapproval.

“Fine," Lynn said. “You know what? You're right, Brittney. You're always right."

“You're doing it again."

“No, hey. You're right. We'll wait it out. Like you said."

“Lynn."

The rat waved a dismissive hand and turned her back on the group, blowing smoke toward the soccer fields. Ben glanced between the two girls.

“Don't be a petty bitch," Brittney said.

Lynn raised her head, blew a sigh toward the midday clouds, lowered her gaze all the way down to the weeds and gravel, and pinched the top of her snout, trying a few times to control her breathing. In the silence, Ben noticed that Dakota was sprinkling nuggets of weed onto his dented soda can.

“Uh," Ben said, feeling very awkward. “I'm . . . sorry for all this. Doing this. To you guys. I really didn't expect McNamara to be—you know."

“Oh, no," Brittney said, reaching over to pat his leg. Her voice was almost immediately kind. “You're fine."

“Yeah, no," Lynn added, also turning around quickly. “No worries, homie. This ain't on you."

There was something in their voices, something a little too eager to be patient and understanding, that reminded Ben far too much of how other people had spoken to him after his mom got leukemia, where everyone seemed to treat him like a piece of glass that would shatter at the slightest touch. He felt a sinking in his gut.

They were listening on the other side of Rosalin's door.

They heard about my mom.

Shit.

He opened his mouth to speak, but there was a flick of a lighter beside him. When he looked over, Dakota was attempting to smoke weed out of the crushed soda can, using the carefully dented center as a bowl, as well as a few cut open holes to suck the smoke into the can. When he dipped the Bic lighter, he burned more metal than flower, but it did seem to work.

Ben scooted away from the smoke. It reeked of skunk.

“You guys need to chill out, man," the other human said, handing out the smoking crater of his soda can. “Talkin' about shit like it's the end of the world. I say, man, I'm telling you guys, just forget that shit, and pass this shit."

“I'm good," Brittney said.

Lynn raised her own cigarette, shrugging.

Dakota held the can over to Ben. “Take a hit, Mr. Narc Man."

Ben raised a brow. “You're gonna give yourself Alzheimer's that way."

Dakota snickered, his eyes as red as the pimples on his chin. “Listen to his kid, man. Talks like such a stiff. 'Oh, you'll give yourself All-Timers' or some shit. Like, man, I'm an All-Timer already."

“You sure are," Lynn replied.

“It means," Ben said, cutting in, “that aluminum is neurotoxic, and that can is made of aluminum, and you're just burning all the metal and paint right through the blood-brain barrier, and now it's accumulating like—you know, like mercury in fish, and you'll probably be shitting in diapers by the time you're seventy." He waved a hand. “So, yeah. No thanks. If you had a real pipe, maybe."

There was a silence in the hollow. Ben looked around, noted the way all three kids were staring at him, and realized he may have spoken too much.

I hate myself.

I hate myself.

I hate myself.

“Oooo," Brittney said. “Look at you, Mr. Chem Wizard."

“Dude," Dakota said, “are you, like, Jimmy Neutron? Like, counting toothpicks on the floor?"

“That's Rain Man," Ben corrected.

“Dude, look at this kid!"

I want to die.

Stop it.

Stop talking.

You always fuck this up, you stupid moron.

“Shut the fuck up," Lynn said, snapping her fingers at Brittney and Dakota. “Both of you."

Brittney held up her paws. Dakota took another fat rip from his soda can, visibly burning some of the Mountain Dew logo.

“Hey, Ben," Lynn continued. “Since you're an AP geek, you wanna see the stuff?"

“The stuff?" he asked, warily.

“The citric acid, man."

Before he could even reply, Lynn was already digging through the weeds and pulling out her backpack. She tossed it at his feet. Feeling like a detective opening crime scene evidence, Ben unzipped Lynn's backpack and went digging around inside, quickly discovering a pile of sagging pouches. When he pulled one out, he was greeted by the sight of an MRE-looking baggie, flat and rectangular, with the picture of a sliced orange on the front. In bright orange letters, it said: PURE VITAMIN C POWDER.

Ben stared at the baggie.

“Good shit, right?" Lynn asked. “You don't know how many different pharmacies I had to go to, just to avoid leaving a trail. Felt like I was making meth."

“. . . I thought you said you were getting citric acid?"

“Uh, yeah, dumbass, there it is."

“This is Vitamin C."

“Yeah? So?"

Ben read the back of the package, just to make sure he wasn't seeing things. He felt a stab of realization. “This. . . ."

“What's your problem, dickweed?"

“This isn't citric acid."

Lynn blinked. “What?"

“Vitamin C is not citric acid," Ben said.

“But—" She flicked her cigarette, realized it was down to the filter, and tossed it over her shoulder. “But there's an orange on the cover!"

Ben looked at her with a mix of humor and disappointment. “You're thinking of ascorbic acid. Citric acid is, like, part of the Kreb's cycle. It makes ATP."

“What's the fuckin' difference?"

“A lot, actually."

“It's all the same shit, isn't it? I wanted oranges! Citrus! Citric fucking—" She yanked the baggie from his hand. “Are you borking my tail, man?"

“It literally says it right here."

He pointed at the nutrition label on the back. Lynn flipped it over. Every time she read the words ascorbic acid 5000%DV, her ears fell a little further. Off to the side, Brittney cupped both hands against her snout, making a muffled cooing sound.

“Did you even read the package?" Ben asked.

Lynn stared down at the weeds and gravel, grinding her bucktooth against her lip.

All at once, Ben started to laugh.

“Shut up," the rat said.

Ben tried to stop laughing, worrying that his voice would echo across the rest of the portables, but he took another look at the orange baggie clutched in Lynn's hand, as well as the embarrassment stamped across her face, and he ended up laughing even harder.

“Keep laughing," Lynn said, whiskers peeling back. “I dare you."

Ben closed his mouth, sealing it with the back knuckle of his fist. He looked up at Lynn. He couldn't stop his lips from twitching. Off to the side, Brittney was glancing between the two, her hyena snout spread in a toothy grin.

Lynn raised a challenging brow. “Sing for me, little bird."

Ben made a grinding noise in his throat. His face was very red. “We learned about citric acid in class. The first week of class, actually."

Lynn blew a raspberry. “Class, my ass."

“Your ass doesn't know cell respiration."

“I'll respirate your cells, motherfucker."

“You know, I'm starting to hear some real acid in your voice."

Lynn tried to sock him in the balls, but Ben knew her tricks by now, and managed to dodge off the back of his cinderblock. She settled on punching his shoulder. “Whatever."

“Yeah, whatever," Ben said. “Who cares, right?"

“Not me!"

“It's not like you spent weeks smuggling this shit into school."

“Nope! No, sir!"

Brittney snatched the baggie from Ben's hand. “Imagine if McNamara caught you with this."

Lynn made a groaning noise to the sky.

“Instant expulsion," Ben said.

“Twenty five to life," Brittney said.

Dakota cleared his throat, doing a gravelly impersonation of McNamara. “Uh, excuse me, citizen, but is this cocaine in your personal domicile?"

“Oh, no, officer," Brittney replied, doing a whiny impersonation of Lynn. “I just have scurvy! Call me pirate of the seas, bitch!"

Lynn raised a middle finger to the group, wheeling it around like a machine gun turret.

Ben cupped a hand to his mouth. “Hey, kid! Psst! Look, man, I got the stuff. I got them Flintstone gummies. Pure cut, man. I got the real hard shit."

“Shut the fuck up!"

Lynn rushed for him. This time, she came in fast, bounding over the cinderblocks, grabbing him by the waist, taking Ben so completely by surprise that he was on his back before he even realized what was happening. When he looked up, Lynn was leaning her hands on his shoulders, pinning him hard to the weeds. Her legs straddled his hips.

Oh, God.

“Keep talking," she said, her face hovering close above. “I dare you."

MISSION ALERT

MISSION ALERT

MISSION ALERT

For a long moment, Ben was completely overwhelmed with the green in her eyes and the weight in her ass and the fur on her wrists and also the general knowledge that he was now in very, very close proximity to a real breathing girl. All he could do for several seconds was dumbly open his mouth.

“Come on," Lynn said.

“Uh."

She leaned in closer. Her weight pressed on his chest. “Do it."

He blushed very hard.

“Sing for me."

Ben glanced out to the side, realizing that Brittney and Dakota were also looking surprised. “Uh, look, I'm . . . sorry if I—"

Lynn shot down, kissing him hard on the mouth. The contact lasted several seconds. Her lips were soft, and her fur tickled his nose, and she mashed her snout from side to side, trying to find the right angle, and just when Ben was cognizant of the fact that he should probably kiss her back, she gave up on the human-style kiss entirely and opened her mouth and bit his face sideways and suddenly there was her tongue and it was battering his face and hot and wet and sliding and—

She pulled back. Ben blinked several times. He was incredibly aware of the lingering heat on his lips, as well as the feeling of someone else's spit in his mouth.

“Shut you up," Lynn said. “Bitch."

Distantly, a bell echoed across the school, signaling the end of lunch.

The rat gave him two playful slaps to the cheek, quickly unsaddling his waist. He could only watch, dizzily, as Lynn sauntered over to Brittney, her tail coiling like a rope around the leg of her jeans. She opened out her arms.

“Hugs?"

Brittney recovered herself, giving a warm smile. “Hugs!"

The punk and the goth embraced each other. Ben thought he heard whispering between them, but it was too faint to catch. After some back pats, the two disentangled and Lynn scooped up her backpack and began making her way out of the little hollow between the portables.

Ben continued to lie on the floor, stunned and blushing.

“Yo, Ben!" Lynn yelled, already out of sight. “We're in the same class!"

Ben rose to an elbow. Dakota was munching through his lunch, unconcerned about the bell. On a nearby cinderblock, Brittney gave Ben another silent look.

“You better fuckin' walk me there!" Lynn shouted.

Ben scrambled to his feet and grabbed his backpack and nearly tripped on a hard tangle of weeds as he tried to run out of the hollow. Brittney held out a hand to stop him.

“You might wanna tuck that in," she said, pointing.

Ben looked down. He was pitching out his jeans with one of the hardest erections he'd ever had in his life. With a breathless stutter, he mashed his hands and bent his waist and stretched out his legs and generally acted like someone dying of electrical shock until, finally, he had successfully beaten himself down into an unnoticeable angle.

“Thanks," he said.

“Sure thing," Brittney said, adjusting her heavy cleavage. “Dumbass."

Ben flipped her off as he ran from the portables.

“Toodles!" Brittney called.

When he emerged back onto open ground, he saw Lynn strolling down the asphalt hill towards the main school building, her backpack held loosely in hand. Ben jogged up to her side and matched her pace. Now, they were walking together.

Things were silent. Other kids streamed passed them, heading off to class.

Oh, God.

What do I say?

Do I say anything to her?

“That was pretty good," Lynn said, giving him a side-eye smirk.

Ben blinked.

The kiss?

I gave a good kiss?

She waved a pink hand. “Dude, I can't believe—I was sneaking in vitamins for weeks. Imagine if McNamara had actually caught me."

Oh, right.

The citric acid.

Yeah, right, of course.

“Yeah," Ben said. “That was, uh—that was pretty good."

Lynn punched him in the shoulder. “Some real acid in my voice, huh? I just got that."

He shrugged.

“Pretty good joke for the Chortling Chode."

“Haha, yeah."

They kept walking. The river of students was starting to grow thick. Pretty soon, they would reach the main building, and they would enter the atrium, and the noise in there would be so loud and echoing and chaotic that they'd lose the chance to talk about the kiss at all. After that, they would be in class, surrounded by other people and already moving on from the moment.

Ben panicked.

“Hey, uh," he said.

Lynn glanced up at him, her pink ears shining through with sunlight.

He panicked again.

“Hannah invited me on a date," Ben said, blurting it out.

Lynn blinked, seemed to process this information, and blinked a few more times, cocking her head. “What?"

“Yeah, no," he said. “It was weird. She wants to, like, meet up after school. In the quad."

“Right. Okay?"

“It's kinda creepy, the more I think about it."

“And?"

“And what?"

Lynn slowed her pace, glancing around at the stream of kids, as if making sure no one was listening. “And what did you say?"

Ben followed her gaze. “Well, I mean. . . ."

The rat looked up at him.

“Yes?" Ben said, hesitating. “I—I said yes. It was—you know—McNamara got in the way, but I said yes. I was gonna meet her."

“You said yes?"

“Well, yeah. Of course I did."

Lynn raised a brow. “Of course you did?"

He looked at her. She kept looking at him. All at once, Ben realized what he was saying.

“Wait—" he began.

Lynn stopped walking completely, planting herself in the middle of the concrete walkway before the main building. Streams of students passed around her. People were annoyed they were blocking the path. “What do you mean, of course you said yes?"

“I didn't mean it like that."

Lynn watched him in silence.

“The plan!" Ben blurted out, loudly. He glanced at the other students and lowered his voice. “Our plan. To get back at her. I told you that I wanted to, like, play a spy. I wanted to get in with her, figure out her dirty secrets. So, yeah, I said yes."

“Get in with her?" Lynn repeated. “You mean, get inside her?"

“No!"

“That's what you said."

“That's not at all what I said!"

She continued to look up at him, seeming to stand very tall for someone who was half a foot below his height. Ben was desperately trying to think of something to say when she started cracking up into a snicker.

“I'm fucking with you, dude," Lynn said, smirking. “Don't bust a nut."

Ben let out a deflating sigh.

“Sure, sure," Lynn continued, sounding cheerful. “I remember. Kinda surprised she's already making a move."

“Me too, actually."

“You think she knows about her locker?"

“Oh, yeah," Ben said. “She pretty much said so. Apparently, McNamara was really mad about it."

Lynn raised a brow. “Dude, she's just gonna beat you up. You go to the quad after school, with no one else around, and she'll make you bite the curb."

“Seems like a strong possibility."

“You still gonna go?"

“Yeah," he said. “I'm not running from a fight."

“She'll kick your ass, man."

“Then I'll get my ass kicked. First time for everything."

Lynn nodded, quirking her whiskers. “You want some back up?"

“If you want to."

“Oh, I love it when you talk to other girls, little bird. Really butters my clam."

“Fuck off."

She gave a winning smile. “Hell yeah, dude. I'm in. Let's escalate this shit. Brittney may want to back off, but, hey, you and me?" She slapped his chest with the back of her hand. “We're ride or die. We're not gonna back down. Isn't that right?"

“To the end, baby," Ben said.

She grinned at him. Ben felt an urge to glance away, to avoid eye contact, to make himself safe again, like he always did whenever he felt too vulnerable, but he stopped himself, and he smiled back at her, and, even if the whole experience was awkward and painfully exposing, it felt pretty good to finally take the chance. Lynn smiled at his smile and socked him in the arm.

“By the way," she said. “You still got my spit on your face."

He furiously wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater. Lynn chuckled, stepped around him, and went for the double doors. Ben chased after her, laughing to himself.

They entered the main atrium together, slithering through the crowd like a shark into water.