Reece grabbed my hand, dragging me down the hall in the opposite direction. "Tell him it was my fault. He'll get over it." He repositioned my hand in his leather riding glove and slowed to walk beside me. I took a few hesitant steps.

We were holding hands.

In public.

In school.

Intentionally.

"Do you mind telling me what we're doing?" I ignored the curious eyes and pointed fingers, the whispering behind cupped hands.

"I'm walking you to class."

"I mean what are we doing . . . as in you and I . . . together?

As in this." I lifted our joined hands.

"I thought we already talked about this." He cocked an eyebrow but kept walking. "What? You don't like holding my hand?"

"No . . . I mean, I do . . . I mean . . . No!" Even if I did like holding his hand, that didn't change the fact that he was using me.

I shook him off and stopped in the middle of the hall, forcing him to turn around. "Don't play games. You know exactly what I mean." My voice bounced, too loud against the blueand-white walls.

He played it cool, casually stripping off his gloves and stuffing them in his pockets. Holding his bare hand palm up, he waited for me to take it. "I'm not playing any games. I'm just walking you to class."

"Why would you do that?" Fine. If he insisted on denying it, I'd pry the truth out of him. "Who am I? I can't be your girlfriend. You already have one!"

He glanced around and lowered his voice. "What are you talking about? I don't have a girlfriend."

"Really? I'm not sure Gena would agree with you." "Gena's not my girlfriend!" Curious heads turned our way. "Do you always leave your clothes in not-your-girlfriend's car?"

Reece dragged me into an empty bank of lockers.

His guilt and shame surged through me the moment we touched. "Can we please talk about this somewhere else?"

He clenched his jaw and spoke through his teeth. "You're attracting attention."

"I thought that's what you wanted. Why else would you tell me what to wear and how to act?" Two girls in hemp skirts shouted something about girl-power. Bodies lined up at each end of the row, blocking our way out, but I didn't care. I just wanted him to tell me the truth. "When are you going to come clean?"

"Come clean about what?"

I stared hard into his eyes, as if I could hurl the words at him without speaking them. I know who you are. He pulled back an inch, his eyes flashing between mine.

His face blanched and pupils dilated, and I could see the exact moment when the realization slammed into him. She knows who I am.

A wave of panic crashed over his face.

"You're making a mistake. Don't do this," he whispered.

Sweat beaded on his hairline.

I was sick of the lies. I was tired of not knowing what he really wanted from me, or what information he was feeding back to Nicholson. "The only mistake I made was agreeing to tutor you in the first place. But you don't have to fake it anymore."

He gripped my shoulders, fingers digging in. "I promise. We'll talk later. About everything." The truth was close. I could feel something in him about to break, and I couldn't take the pressure anymore. I had enough of my own secrets without bearing the burden of his too.

I needed to hear him say it. "I know you're not who you say you are."

A crowd collected around us.

He shook his head. "Don't."

"I know you're a . . ."

Reece's mouth pressed hard against mine. A rush of emotions rolled through me, a barrage of tastes and smells so tangled, I couldn't make sense of them. My protests muffled

against his tightly closed lips.

He pulled away just enough to whisper, "Please, don't do this." His damp forehead rested against mine, eyes searching for understanding. He was terrified. His fear was so thick and