I felt my face grow hot. "I don't need the personals," I lied. "There's a lot of other stuff in the classifieds too, you know."

I jumped as a package of Twinkies dropped to the counter in front of me.

"Should I be offended that my cheap cake offerings have been trumped by a fudge cruller from the day old bin?" Jeremy leaned over my shoulder and piled breath mints, a soda, and a candy bar beside the Twinkies, giving Bao something to do other than harass me about the paper.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, surprised.

"Taking you to school."

"But it's Friday. Aren't you supposed to be at-"

Jeremy coughed loudly into his hand, cutting off what I was about to say. "I need someone to share my Twinkies with me. If Anh makes me eat one more carrot stick, my hair will turn orange." He gave me a pointed look that said Please don't go there. He didn't want Bao to know he was seeing a shrink. Since when did he care? Then again, I didn't want anyone to know I was reading the personals, so I guess we were even.

"Maybe I like redheads. Ever think of that?" Anh emerged from an aisle balancing a cup of fat-free cottage cheese, a banana, and a bottled water. She leveraged her items onto the counter and Bao wrote them all down on an index card rather than ring them up. All the while his eyes were fixed on Jeremy.

"Sharing produce, Anh? Sounds serious." Bao glared at Jeremy, sizing him up.

Jeremy looked at me with an awkward smile. "Just a few carrot sticks between friends."

"Ew." I held out the last bite of my donut to Jeremy. He probably needed it more than I did. He stuffed it into his mouth, looking relieved to have an excuse not to say anything.

"Jeremy's been giving me a ride to school on Fridays. And in return, I'm trying to save him from a slow death by high triglycerides."

Jeremy stopped chewing and looked at me sideways. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He hadn't told me he'd been driving Anh to school on Fridays. And missing appointments with his shrink to do it. Anh kept talking, clueless to our silent exchange.

"Do Mom and Dad know about this?" Bao asked, looking all serious and parental.

"He's only driving me to school," she said. "And to the school play-"

"Wow! Would you look at the time! We should probably go . . . to school . . . before we're late." Jeremy made a show of looking at his watch, clearly uncomfortable.

An awkward silence passed and we all turned at the sound of the bells when Lonny Johnson pushed open the door. His new friend followed, the one who'd shoved me at school. They drifted in like two dark clouds, and changed the climate of the store.

Jeremy paled and dropped a five on the counter. "Keep the change," he muttered. "I'll wait in the car." He walked quickly toward the door, his eyes lowered. Lonny watched him blow past with a peculiar interest. When the bells hushed, Lonny moved wordlessly to the cooler in the back.

His friend turned his back to the counter and began to browse, walking lazily through the aisles, and pausing in front of the greeting card display. Lingering at the Mother's Day cards, he grazed one with the tip of his finger, hesitating before he moved on. Then he reached for an item on the snack shelf instead.

"You planning to pay for that?" Bao said loudly. The guy's fingers hovered over a strand of beef jerky. Bao's hand reached under the counter. "You girls should get to school," he said without taking his eyes off the guy's back.

Anh took a tentative step and gave her brother an anxious look. He jerked his chin to the door, and she followed Jeremy out.

Lonny's friend snatched up the jerky and strolled slowly to the counter beside me. If he recognized me, he didn't seem to care. I held my breath when he reached under his jacket. All that came out was a worn leather wallet.

He looked to me where I stood blocking the register, then to Bao, then back to me. One side of his lip curled up and he arched a pierced brow. "Are you in line, or what?" His voice was deep, like he'd just woken up. It sounded more like a growl.

I cleared my throat to get Bao's attention, but he wouldn't look away from the guy's face. "My paper?" I nudged.

Bao reached under the counter and pulled out a fresh copy without looking at me. It was heavier than the one I passed back to him, and I decided to trust the personals were all in there, rather than open it in front of Lonny's friend, who looked like he was running out of patience.

I folded it under my arm, grabbed my milk, and made a beeline for the passenger side of Jeremy's car. But Anh was already in my seat. I wrestled with my backpack and got in behind her, struggling to get comfortable. Anh's seat was set far back, the way I usually liked it, and now it left very little room for me.

Jeremy pulled out of the space before I had time to fasten my seat belt and made a rolling stop out of the parking lot, ignoring oncoming traffic. A horn blared.

"Do you think we should make sure Bao's okay?" Anh asked, clutching her armrest and craning to look back at the store window.

"I'm sure Bao can handle those guys. Besides, you don't want to be late. Bao and I have money riding on the two of you." Jeremy's eyes found mine in the mirror. He was looking at me when he said it, but sitting in the backseat, I wasn't so sure who he'd put his money on.

7.

Archimedes knew the play wasn't really the thing.

Do the math and find me after the show.

I drew a wide blue circle around the ad with my lab marker, careful not to touch the print. I had no doubt the ad was written by the same person who wrote the Newton one. The tone and cadence felt so similar. Both read like a puzzle waiting to be solved. But what did it mean?

Someone grumbled behind me. I flipped the ad facedown on the desk and looked over my shoulder to see TJ fighting with his leg brace, looking exhausted. He was early today and I'd thought I was alone. Class didn't start for another ten minutes.

He stretched forward, struggling to capture the bottom strap. It was unfastened and dangled just out of reach. The weariness on his face, that flat and colorless veneer-the one my mother painted over with makeup-reflected every loss he'd sustained. His father was gone, in prison since TJ was in middle school. His mother had killed herself shortly after. And now he was stuck living in Sunny View with his drunk uncle, maybe indefinitely, since he'd lost any shot at a football scholarship when he'd hurt his knee last season. We weren't all that different really, and turning my back on him felt wrong.