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me a few seconds later.
    â€œOof!”
    I’m airborne for a second, then my body slams down against the linoleum tile. There’s a scuffling sound next to me and a male voice cursing under his breath.
    â€œDamn, are you okay?”
    Eyes closed, I wince and put a hand to my head, which is throbbing from the impact. Nothing seems to be broken or bleeding. I move my arms and legs to be sure.
    â€œI think so,” I say slowly, wiggling my fingers. Then I open my eyes and look up.
    At Joe Lombardi.
    Of course.
    Of course
I ran into Joe Lombardi.
    Of course
I’m now lying on this dirty floor, staring up at his piercing green eyes, and feeling like a total dumbass.
    This is the stuff that happens to me. This is the stuff I’m going to be remembered for—being a total spaz in front of the guy I’ve been crushing on for two years.
    â€œI, uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” I stutter then go silent as Joe gently reaches down to help me up. His grip is firm but careful. His hands feel warm against my skin, and I want to close my eyes again.
    â€œYou don’t need to apologize,” he’s saying, leaning over to pick up my books. “I’m the one who wasn’t watching where I was going. Probably should stop texting and walking altogether, huh?”
    â€œMaybe.” I give him a weak smile and dust off my legs. “Thanks for the help.”
    I take my books from his hands, and he gives me a grin.
    â€œSure thing . . .” He pauses, cocks his head at me. “What’s your name again?”
    My heart falters a bit.
Figures.
    â€œLily. Lily Spencer.”
    â€œRight. Lily.” Joe’s looking at me as if he knows me from somewhere but can’t place me. I could remind him—home ec, human geography, and the half dozen other classes we’vebeen in together. But I don’t. Instead, I look down and tuck a stray curl behind my ear.
    â€œThanks again,” I say as I start back up the stairs.
    â€œJoe.”
    I blink and look back at him. He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets now and he’s still smiling.
    â€œMy name’s Joe,” he says, as though
I’m
the one who doesn’t remember
him
.
    â€œI—right,” I shake my head, unable to stop the smile creeping over my lips. If I ever have to give an example of irony to someone, this will be it.
    â€œThanks, Joe,” I say, my cheeks hot. He shrugs and starts heading down the last flight of stairs.
    â€œAnytime, Lily,” he calls over his shoulder.
    Joe disappears through the first-floor entrance, and I stand there, grinning stupidly, before turning and practically floating to calculus.
    He said my name.
    Joe Lombardi said my name.
    Now let’s hope he actually remembers it.

I really couldn’t have asked for a warmer welcome. When the girls’ track team marched in through the glass doors of the school entrance, at least half the senior class was crowded throughout the entrance and connecting hallways. People were clapping and whistling. Teachers were cheering from their classroom doors. I beamed up at Tommy, who was holding my hand.
    â€œIt’s all for you, baby,” he said over the commotion. And then he winked at me.
    Which is when I remembered Laura Browning and her Facebook flirtation with my boyfriend. I looked up at Tommy uncertainly, but he didn’t notice my expression. Now that we’re out of the crowd and into more typical hallway traffic, I consider my words carefully.
    I end up settling on, “So, since when are you friends with Laura Browning?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œLaura Browning,” I repeat. We’ve reached Tommy’s locker and now he’s busy looking for his history book under a pile of papers.
    â€œOh, her. She’s in my calculus class. Why?”
    I bite my lip, trying to figure out a way to say this that doesn’t make me look like a jealous mess.
    â€œNo reason. I