At the end of class, Nick strolls my way, his hand extended. "You dropped this," he says, his gaze fixed on me as he places the cap to my water bottle on the desk. It must have fallen when I got jostled by Barry.

"Thanks."

"Frank's a jerk. It was an accident. Everyone saw it."

"Thanks for standing up for me." I'm not sure what else to say to a Nick who's not being a pushy asshole.

"It was nothing. I wouldn't have let-"

"Leila, a word, please."

Nick stops, his lips parted mid-speech, to turn to where Mr. Wolburn sits at the front of the classroom. "Better go talk to him." He gives me an encouraging smile before he leaves. I can't help but wonder what's led to this new friendliness.

The last of the stragglers finish packing their books while Mr. Wolburn sits behind his desk and scribbles something into his open-day planner.

"I'm going to be late for class, Sir." I shift from one leg to the next as I stand to the side of him, near the door. Maybe it'll be enough to help me avoid the lecture that must be brewing.

"I'll write you a note," he says without taking his eyes off what he's jotting down. Only when the last kid leaves the room does he set aside his pen, to do the thing where he comes from behind his desk and perches in front of me, his legs spread wide with his water bottle held in between them. "You were sick on Friday? Is that why you didn't come see me Thursday after school? You weren't well?" He plays with the cap as he waits for an answer.

I wasn't sick. I didn't even have to pretend I was. Cassie left before eight and came home after four. She didn't ask, and I didn't volunteer the information. Even if Dad got one of those emails they send from the school about absenteeism and brings it up, he's hours away and has no way to prove I wasn't sick.

I nod my head and mumble something.

He accepts my explanation and continues. "We took up the test on Friday as a group. You failed, Leila."

My lips part at his words, a gasp escaping. Failed? There's no way I failed. I understood the unit and studied for it.

"Are you surprised? You shouldn't be. You missed ten classes. Eleven now," he adds. "You obviously need some extra help."

"I didn't fail," I say, finding my voice. "There's no way."

His gray eyes widen as if I'm calling him a liar. "We all marked it together in class."

"Who did mine?"

"You expect me to know who marked your paper?" he asks. "I handed them out randomly, we marked them together, and the students gave them back and I recorded the marks."

"Can I see mine?" I ask, cutting him off.

"I gave them out at the end of class. Someone took it to give to you. What are you saying... you deserved a higher mark, despite missing the entire ten lessons that led up to it?" He scratches his forehead. "I think you got the mark you deserved."

Hilary, Frank... Nick, despite the way he stood up for me today, it occurs to me, even if it doesn't to him, that if any of them had my paper, they might have been happy to have me fail.

"You can take it again," he says, and the tension in my shoulders eases. "But first you'll meet with me and we'll review the lesson. Let's start with next Monday after school and see how far we get."

I nod, realizing I need to fix this. I've never cared about my marks because A's have always come easy to me, but with Dad on my case, I can't afford to fall behind.

"Good. Give me your phone," he says, as he puts away the water bottle.

He waits while I dig into the front pocket of my knapsack. I raise my gaze and find Mr. Wolburn watching me and reluctantly hand him the phone. My heart beats in my chest as I wait for him to finish whatever he needs to do so I can leave. I think he's going to add the meeting to my calendar, or maybe set a timer, to help me remember, but he opens my message app and texts himself. From the table behind him, his phone pings.

"There," he says, as he adds his contact information. "Now, if you get sick, or your sister pulls you out of school, or your dog dies, or whatever, you can text me you're not coming and not leave me sitting here like a moron waiting for you." He finishes his tapping and scrolls through my contact list. "Aunt Phebe, Cassie, Dad, Mom, Uncle Eric. That's it?" he says, glancing up from it. "That's the shortest contact list I've seen in my life."

I take the phone back. It's obvious what he just did is wrong. I hate how he acts like he has a right to know everything about me because I landed in his class this semester. I'm not going to tell him that before May, I had tons of names there, but I purged all the numbers after what happened with Jaime.

"Well, now you've got my number too if you need someone to talk to. Don't be shy." He stands and brushes the seat of his pants. "I give it out like candy on Halloween. Any student who needs me can reach me. Let me get you the note for Ms. Perkins. She's a stickler."

A sense of unease settles in my chest because while I may have his number, by using my phone to text himself, he now has mine too. The way he stares at me as he hands me the note makes me feel that was the whole point.

[Author's Note:

Did you ever have a teacher like this who just crossed boundaries in ways you now realize were too much?]