Sawyer swallowed hard and reached for Cooper’s arm just as the bell rang. The aisle flooded with students pushing their way out the door.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Mr. Hanson shouted, flapping his hands like broken moths. “Tests. Come pick them up on the way out.”

Sawyer was deliberately slow putting her things away. Though Cooper seemed sweet, dating was the last thing on her mind. She wanted to let him down easily, privately, but once she turned around, the classroom had emptied, and he was gone.

Sawyer hiked her backpack over her shoulder and was stopped at the head of the class by Mr. Hanson, what she supposed was her Spanish test tubed in his hands. He thumped it against his palm once, then held it out to her.

“Your test.” It was almost a question, and Sawyer was suddenly unsure whether or not she wanted to reach for it. Mr. Hanson was handsome, with dark hair that backed away from his forehead and eyebrows that rose expectantly. Sawyer wasn’t sure why, but the raised eyebrows paired with Mr. Hanson’s narrowed, leather-brown eyes unnerved her. She steadied her backpack and felt her eyes dart to the back of the classroom to the door, to the rows of abandoned desks behind her. Finally, they flitted over the page in Mr. Hanson’s hand.

“This is mine?”

“You know, Sawyer, I’m worried about you.” Mr. Hanson handed her her test, and she swallowed hard.

“Forty-seven percent?”

He offered her a sympathetic smile, set his hand on her shoulder, and squeezed gently. The motion sent something warm through Sawyer, and she wondered if she could slip away without seeming rude.

But then she thought of Dr. Johnson.

Dr. Johnson was her father’s go-to shrink for all things teenage trauma–related. Getting a divorce? Drop your kid at the shrink. Kid’s boyfriend dies? Shrink. Grades dropping, kid not coping, possibly cutting? Shrink, shrink, shrink.

“I’m sorry about this.” She shook the test. “I’ll try harder. I know I’ll do better next time. But maybe I can do some extra credit or something? I really do want to boost my grade.”

“Extra credit?” Mr. Hanson’s eyebrows went up. “I suppose we could work something out.”

“Thank you. I just—I just really need to end up with at least a B in this class.”

Mr. Hanson moved his hand to her upper arm, his thumb rubbing a small circle on her bare skin. His touch sent a cold, electric shock through her—Sawyer thought of a wet, serpentine eel darting through rocks—and her skin pricked out with gooseflesh.

“Ooh,” Mr. Hanson said, rubbing both of Sawyer’s arms now. “You’re freezing.”

“No,” Sawyer said, stumbling backward. “I’m okay.” She swung her backpack from one shoulder, putting it between herself and Mr. Hanson. He took a step closer anyway.

“I should get going.”

“You know, Sawyer, your grade is dropping like a stone. That’s not like you.”

“I know, I—”

“I know you’ve had a really rough month.”

Sawyer nodded, a rush of tears forming behind her lashes. She was angry; she was terrified; she wasn’t even sure at what. But she would not cry, she told herself. She had already spent too many embarrassing hours bursting into tears at inopportune moments. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, nails digging half-moons into her palms.

“I’m not trying to be the bad guy. I know you’re probably really sad and confused.”

Mr. Hanson’s eyes were dark, an intense shade of brown. When he moved to touch Sawyer’s cheek, she tried to dodge him—in her mind, at least. Her body was rigid, her feet rooted to the floor.

“Probably even a little lonely.” Mr. Hanson smiled softly. “That’s normal. I lost someone too, so I understand.” He slipped the test from her stony fingers. “But a college might not be as understanding. They’re strangers. Those people won’t know what a smart, talented girl you are.”

Sawyer’s spine stiffened. “Mr. Hanson, I—”

“I want to help you.” He laid the test aside on his desk, peeled the backpack from Sawyer’s stiff fingers, and set that aside too.

“I think I can probably get my grade up if I just work a little harder.” She took a microstep backward. “I’ll do that. I mean, I know I can…if I just…work harder.”

Mr. Hanson’s hand fell from her elbow, his fingertips trailing just slightly over the bare skin of her forearm, giving her goose bumps. Mr. Hanson smiled. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I help out a lot of my students.”

“Oh.” Sawyer’s mind was working, ticking. Everyone loves Mr. Hanson, Sawyer’s mind reasoned, he’s just being friendly. Stop being such a freak. She forced a laugh that was too loud, sounded tinny and too high-pitched in the empty room.

“Would you like me to help you? It’ll only take a minute.” Mr. Hanson picked up the teacher’s guide to Sawyer’s Spanish textbook and she immediately relaxed, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

See? He’s a teacher. Stop. Being. A. Freak.

Sawyer nodded slowly, trying to force some nonchalance into her stance, into her voice. She shifted her weight. “Sure. Thanks.”

Mr. Hanson pulled out his desk chair for Sawyer and ushered her into it. She sat primly, and he slid her test paper in front of her. He leaned close, one hand on her shoulder, the other caging her at his desk. “You see right here?” He pointed, and Sawyer nodded quickly.

“It should have been nosotros,” she answered slowly.

“Right.” He squeezed her shoulder. “See, that was probably just carelessness. Now, what about this one?” He pointed to something lower on the page and Sawyer bent to examine it, his fingers trailing down her spine and resting on her lower back. He began to make small circles with his thumb and Sawyer swallowed heavily, her heart beginning to thud. Every muscle in her body screamed that something was terribly wrong, but when she turned to look at Mr. Hanson, his face was open, his smile kind.

He’s helping me, Sawyer said to herself, swallowing hard. That’s all it is.

“I know you can get this. You’re a smart girl.” Mr. Hanson winked. “Not just a pretty face.”

Sawyer glanced at the clock and pushed away from the desk, standing. “I really should get going. Um, thank you. Uh, for helping me.”

“That’s all I want to do for you, Sawyer. Help.” He opened his arms for a hug, and the stupidity that Sawyer felt crashed over her in a tremendous wave.

She stepped into his embrace and felt his arms wrap around her, a quick, innocent squeeze.

See? Innocent. Stop being such a jumpy stupid freak.

But his hands locked behind her and his lips found her ear. His breath was hot and moist. “I’m always here to help,” he whispered.

He hugged her just a little bit tighter, and Sawyer stumbled forward, off balance. She pressed her face into the collar of his Lacoste polo shirt. She tried to right herself, to push herself apart from Mr. Hanson, but he was still in mid-hug.

Suddenly, all Sawyer wanted was to get away. It was illogical and rude, she thought, but she felt stifled and trapped and uncomfortable. Six minutes or six seconds could have passed—Sawyer couldn’t be sure—but Mr. Hanson’s scent, smoke and musky cologne and sweat, choked her and she gritted her teeth, biting her lip hard in the process. She tasted the blood in her mouth just as she felt Mr. Hanson’s fingers slip from the small of her back, trailing to the waistband of her jeans, then resting on her back pockets.

He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, she screamed in her head. He doesn’t know that he’s touching me.

A hundred thoughts zipped through her mind. Step back casually. Don’t mention it. Don’t embarrass him.

She tried to back away, her whole body stiffening, but he didn’t let her go. Finally she ground her palms against his chest, pressing against him.

“Mr. Hanson, I have to go. I have to go right now.”

“What are you talking about? You came to me.” His breath was raspy, muffled by her hair, and Sawyer paused, anxiety welling up inside her. She had come to him. He only wanted to help. Her head started to spin. He was trying to help…right?

He pressed against her once more, his belt buckle digging into her, and something inside of her snapped. Terror—and anger—shot through her.

“No!” She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and brought her knee up, hard and fast, catching him off guard and between the legs. Mr. Hanson groaned and doubled over, grabbing her ponytail. Sawyer stumbled backward, wincing at the dried-leaf sound of strands of her hair breaking as Mr. Hanson pulled against her. She pushed away again, hand clawed, nails raking over his cheeks, leaving an angry red wake puckering his skin.

“Jesus, Sawyer!”

“Stay away from me! I have pepper spray!” She held her backpack in front of her like a shield, blindly digging through the front pocket while keeping her eyes fixed on Mr. Hanson. He pressed his palms forward and chuckled, the sound shooting ice water through her veins.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking. I was just trying to offer you some homework help.” He crossed the room in three long strides and pulled open the door. “I’m sorry if you misunderstood.”

Sawyer shook her head, willing herself not to cry. “No, I didn’t misunderstand. You—you—”

Mr. Hanson crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned one hip against his desk. There was a hint of a smile on his lips—Sawyer couldn’t tell if it was kind or sly—and one eyebrow was quirked. She could feel the cheek-reddening heat in her face, and a strand of hair was pulled out of her mussed ponytail, flopping in front of her eyes. But Mr. Hanson looked fresh and at ease. Sawyer stumbled back, her mind tumbling.

“You—you did.”

She tried to force what happened to the forefront of her mind, but already it was slipping behind the haze of self-doubt.

Kevin always said she overreacted. He said she was oversensitive, that she always took things the wrong way. Maybe this was one of those times?

Sawyer snuck a glance at Mr. Hanson through the filter of her chestnut–colored hair.

“I appreciate you coming in for homework help, Sawyer, but you should get going now. The building is almost empty.” He cocked his, head pressing his lips to into a thin smile. “You never know what’s lurking out there after dark.”

Sawyer glanced down the deserted hall and back at Mr. Hanson. His smile took on a sinister edge, the glint in his eyes unmistakably challenging. She tore down the hallway, the heels of her boots slapping the linoleum, the sharp sound bouncing off the walls and echoing in her ears. She didn’t breathe until she burst through the double doors onto the campus lawn. She took one look at the darkening sky, then doubled over, hands on knees, tears and snot rolling over her cheeks and dripping from her chin.

“Sawyer?” Logan’s voice was kind and tentative. “Are you okay?”

She straightened up quickly, used the heel of her hand to swipe at her eyes and chin. She sniffed, forced a small smile, and masked a hiccup.

“Logan, hi.” She saw the polite concern in his cocker-spaniel eyes and opened her mouth, but she stopped herself when Mr. Hanson’s icy glare and challenging smile flashed in her mind. She felt like he was all around her, like his breath was still bathing her neck. Her skin burned where his fingers had been. “I’m okay, thanks. It’s just that—”

“I know,” he said softly.

Sawyer’s stomach seized. “You do?”

“Kevin.”

“Kevin?” Sawyer paused for a beat and then pumped her head. “Right, Kevin.” She shirked off the guilt that pricked at the back of her neck for using Kevin—what happened to Kevin—to cover. She dug in her pack for her car keys. “I should get going. I didn’t have track. My parents are probably wondering where I am.” She knew she was babbling, but it felt somehow comfortable to talk about normal things.

The hard crack of the double doors opening behind her stopped her, made her heart drop to her already weak knees.

“Sawyer Dodd. Just the young lady I was looking for.” Mr. Hanson’s voice—light, unaffected—oozed through Sawyer like a searing poison, and everything inside her tightened, went on high alert. She didn’t turn to face him. She heard Logan rattle around in his bag, heard him pull out something cellophane, and everything dropped into slow motion, the tiniest, most inconsequential sounds—cellophane tearing, Logan chewing—became suddenly deafening.

“Oh, hello there, Logan.”

Sawyer didn’t have to look at him to know that Mr. Hanson was smiling at her. She could feel his stare, his breath coating every inch of her.