When Alan walked down the steps, Ted was waiting in the shade, clearly having waited there for a few minutes. Ted stood up to pace a little, as if he were a lawyer presenting a case. After Ted had seen Alan so brazen as to sell his product right behind Ms. Wolfe's office while she pretended to work, his entire preconception of Alan was shattered: he had always thought Alan a goody-two-shoes, and maybe he still was; some cool kid had probably blackmailed Alan with threats to his family, but if not for that, there was something else to him. There was only one way to find out:

"So, care to tell me what's in that box?" Ted asked, clearly referring to the copy paper box Alan was holding with utmost care.

"Just robotics supplies," he quietly replied while avoiding eye contact. Before Alan could scurry off, Ted called out:

"How much juice is in there?" This got Alan's attention.

"How do you know about that?"

"Just because you're the good kid doesn't mean you can get away with everything. It's a miracle that you haven't been caught yet."

"Well, thanks for the conversation, but I really need to leave now." Alan didn't like being called out, especially as it meant that he wasn't as subtle as he thought.

"Say, how much today?" Ted continued after briefly smiling to indicate he meant no harm.

"Thirty bucks. My dealer's jacked up the prices."

"Hmm, you drive a hard bargain. I'll take three," Ted responded. He pulled out a wad of bills from some inside jacket pocket and gave Alan a few, and Alan opened his box, angling the lid toward Ted so he couldn't take a peek inside, and gave them to him. Alan looked so cowardly, Ted thought, acting like a schoolkid. What inspired him to suddenly get into illicit business, even as one of the de facto "good people" on campus? He talked like a wannabe Pablo Escobar now, but he'd get shot in a dark alley before he got that far. Or realistically, roughed up on his way home when someone else wanted to move in. God help him then. Ted took out the vials from his pocket for another look, rolling them around in his hand and watching the green liquid splash. He could sell these for $50 each.

Alan had settled comfortably into his new occupation as salesman. Sales pitches were made whenever teachers turned their backs or whenever he met new friends at the urinals. First-time buyers were given a free first serving, but Alan knew perfectly well they would come back for more.

"Think of it as thrift, as a gift, if you get my drift," Alan said to Louis genially before he could say no. Alan could not believe that he had so seamlessly pierced the veil and entered the cool kids' club. As a kid, he had watched many cop shows with undercover schemes; espionage tickled his fancy, and maybe if he were lucky, like James Bond he'd pick up some benefits along the way. In these fantasies, Frank was the elusive head of MI6, who while always stern would sometimes drop the act and congratulate him on a job well-done. Everyone actually in the club, even Juliet, was off-limits, of course, but beyond that Alan thought he would let the chips fall where they pleased. Madeline was unavailable, as she stopped talking to Alan long ago, right around the start of sophomore year in fact. She was always shy.

Thursdays were the one day of the week when Frank's TA period came after lunch, and they were also long; Mrs.Huang saw these days as her opportunity to give Frank and Juliet clippedinstructions, leave the room, and let them catch a breath, relax a little, andshoot the breeze. It wasn't her fault that she so frequently had staff meetings during her free period, from which she would often return with cake for someone's birthday or a stack of readings she immediately told Frank to summarize for her. Today, as Frank and Juliet discovered, Mrs. Huang had skipped the intermediate step and simply decided to not show up at all. Frank cast a sharp shadow against the wall as he stood there pondering his options—it was not unlike Mrs. Huang to be a bit tardy, but never this late, and she would only assume the worst if she came to see them absent. He moved into the shade of a massive air-conditioning unit, where Juliet had already sat down, and together they stared at Mrs. Huang's door, which appeared a perfect mirror.

"This reminds me of one of those movies where we're stranded on a desert island," Juliet remarked. "Just the two of us, nature, and our wits."

"That would be the worst way to die. Imagine how sick you'd get of each other after a bit. It's not like you'd get cell reception—and it's not exactly like you can pop over to your library and check out Ulysses. I mean, we read Lord of the Flies, and it's not like any of us need to actually be stranded to simulate that here. We all know what teenagers do alone with nobody to guide them."

"There's a subtle difference there, Frank: those were all boys. You need some gender balance in there, and that cleans things up."

"OK, sure, you even out the genders a bit. You're still stuck on an island. That's no better."

"Besides, they were simpletons. You're smart; if we were ever stuck on a desert island, you could save us both." Frank looked at Juliet askance, who still lounged in the shade like she was on the beach.

"If we were ever stuck on a desert island together, I think something would have gone wrong long before then. So, uh, it's been ten minutes at this point. Shall we brave the rest of the period here or go somewhere else? This reminds me too much of PE."

"I would think you out of anyone would be more tolerable of a bit of sun. It's not even that bad—can't handle the heat?"

"I'm wearing a suit, you're dressed a bit lighter. Haven't I told you I'm cold-blooded?" Juliet leaned over to squeeze the wool and silk. "I guess this is pretty warm," she admitted.

"I exaggerate a bit—the temperature's really not bad at all. Maybe I'm even a bit chilly. But I'd much rather sit in a chair than squat on concrete."

"But as a good person, don't you know that this builds moral constitution, while also stretching your hamstrings, quadriceps, and gluteus maximus?" Juliet teased—if Frank could wisecrack, two could play at that game.

"You took the words right out of my mouth." They continued bantering for about an hour more until Ms. Huang arrived leisurely and commended them on their patience. It was so sweet how Frank helped Juliet stand, and how Juliet thanked him and opened the door for the three of them; her scheme was working admirably. Now, Mrs. Huang had indeed read How To Be A Good Person, and she kept a copy inside her desk in case she ever needed to share it with anyone. She knew what it said about dating, and she knew from the past few months that Frank staunchly refused to act outside the bounds of decorum, no matter how often Juliet inadvertently tested them, but couldn't a woman dream?

Mrs. Huang would have had better luck if Frank's patience weren't already worn thin by his duties as class officer. Frank had put a great deal of effort into his election campaign, far more than he needed, and so much effort that he indeed forgot he would actually have responsibilities the following year. Or, so he thought: Frank discovered that he and his other class officers captained a crew of about ten underclassmen, all of whom had no responsibilities but to accede to their whims. Someone wanted a book from the library? It went onto one of their cards, and a leadership flunky would pay the price if it were lost. Frank found this all very amusing at first, but realized this came as a double-edged sword: when he wanted to exercise his executive privileges to directly influence the school, Ms. Foster found the notion preposterous:

"You were elected to represent the people, not to crawl around on your hands and knees to serve them."

"Are we not civil servants? All of us here—the regular leadership students certainly act as our servants, but we too are beholden to a higher power."

"Well, don't let that trouble you," Ms. Foster continued with a careless flick of her wrist. "Just pass on the work I assign you to somebody else and trust to luck. We call that delegation and responsibility."

Frank took that in stride the best he could, although his discontent manifested itself again when the first rally came: all members of leadership were mandated to wear their class colors, and his was purple. Frank did not like the color, least of all in face paint or a bandana, which everyone else had to display or else be branded a bore.

"This is established custom, Frank. You're supposed to wear a T-shirt, put on some glitter, the whole shebang. Even I'm required to change my outfit a little."

"Would a purple tie suffice?"

"You're a little rebel, aren't you? But I'm not going to be the one to stop you. You can decide after the rally if you think you look out of place." Frank shrugged and showed up to school that day wearing a purple tie sans other embellishment; nobody noticed the gesture besides Juliet, who told him that purple was a royal color and there was no shame in wearing it. Mrs. Huang seconded that gesture:

"I don't trust anything Ms. Foster says. She thinks I'm a racist and a sexist! Go help Juliet adjust her uniform. She looks very pretty, don't you agree?" Frank ignored the question and went to walk a half-circle around her, not sure if there were specific flaws he was supposed to identify; she did a little twirl and a curtsy.

"Uh, it looks fine? I don't know anything about makeup or hair, I trust you to handle it."

"Are you sure? I don't want to embarrass myself out there. I have standards to uphold," Juliet said defensively. Frank took a step back and looked again, worried he was standing too close before.

"It's fine, I promise. I think we should head down to the gym now, it's almost time, and I need to help set up the balloons." Ms. Huang ushered them out the door and wished them good luck. Rallies at Heller were gaudy affairs, filled with pop music championed by Behrooz and team-building activities; they were also an opportunity for some of the different extracurricular groups to ply their crafts, as otherwise there would be no way most of the audience cared. Beth was already there, doing some pre-routine stretching, and Juliet called over Frank, who had immediately gone to the opposite end of the gym when given an opportunity.

"Don't think you can sneak away like that without taking a photo," Juliet chided him, and she had one of her teammates take a picture of the three of them; Juliet and Beth smiled their well-rehearsed grins, and Frank appeared dour as usual. Juliet took her own selfies with each of them afterward, and only then let Frank leave. Frank hated rallies and all they stood for. They were a waste of public funds, a waste of valuable instructional time, and the constant thrum of noise hurt his ears. Frank was fortunately able to use his outfit as an excuse to avoid playing Twister or participating in the three-legged race, and instead stood near the entrance with the teachers. Mr. T passed out earplugs to his colleagues, and then gave a pair to Frank, and together all of them watched the spectacle and left halfway through to eat pizza in his classroom.

John stuck around after the rally to help Behrooz clean up after seeing nobody else help him.

"Thanks John, you're a good kid. What's that you're humming?" John looked at him dazed, but continued subconsciously: "Moonlight and love songs, never out of date..." The tune had been stuck in his head for days, playing on repeat, and he considered it no surprise someone musically-inclined had chosen to break the ice and comment on it.

"Hey, I know that song: that's from that movie, Casablanca, whatever it's called. You've seen it?"

"Yeah, I guess I have," John admitted. "When did you see it? I saw it at the lake with Tom, you know, and all our friends there."

"Beth and I watched it over the weekend, at her place. It was very, what's the word again, oh, poignant. But I knew the song before: 'You must remember this...' and all that. The oldsters love it, it reminds them of the wars they've been in. Sometimes they stand up and dance a bit, and one time someone told me to 'shut that damn thing off,' and he went to the piano and started singing and playing. We all cried."

"That's a very interesting story, but sorry—you said you saw it with Beth?"

"You're right, I guess I did. Oh, I see what you mean: I don't want to say we're together again, but I'm starting to warm up to the idea. We both independently are." After a few weeks of friendship and generosity without strings attached, Behrooz had suggested to Beth they get lunch together somewhere. The past was the past, and they both thought it immature to hold a petty grudge. That turned into dinner plans, and as they ate their pasta, Beth remarked that it was like they were dating again.

"So I guess we are," Behrooz had responded, and that was the end of that. John was almost insulted Beth had not thought to bring that up at some point over the last few weeks. She had plenty of opportunities, certainly. John considered himself an excellent confidant and a quick study when it came to emotions. But if Beth wanted to play her games, John could play his own. When he was young, John had attended a few chess tournaments. Beth started their first game, in what would surely be a series of many, aggressively:

"So, John, are you free this evening?" Beth asked him while Behrooz was busy putting away his equipment in the storage room.

"What sort of 'free' are we talking?"

"Regina had a really good idea that since we had so much fun baking cookies over the summer, that just the four of us should meet up at her place and do it again. Juliet found a really cute recipe for matcha cookies on Instagram, so that should be fun."

"But isn't that a, you know, girl thing?"

"Come on, you're an honorary girl! You and Frank are the only two who have earned that title. It's not like we're throwing a slumber party or anything. Are you scared of Regina?" John gulped when Beth said that word—Regina still left a poor taste in his mouth, not helped by the fact that for some strange reason, she was still nice to him.

"I can be there."

"Seven o'clock, her place. It's a date."

John did not believe at first he was dropped off at the right house because there were no cars parked in front; still, he daintily unlatched the gate and crept along the garden path to Regina's door, knocking faintly twice and then ringing the doorbell after taking a deep breath. Regina opened the door and beckoned him in, exhorting him to make himself at home. John, not knowing what else to do, sat on the couch and took the glass of ice water Regina firmly offered him. Even though she was not the one who invited John originally, she had all intentions of being the perfect hostess. She sat down in the armchair and delicately folded her arms, watching John sip the water.

"Tom couldn't make it?" John asked, swirling his water in case any powder precipitated.

"He wouldn't find this fun, he'd just want to eat whatever we made. I think he's at his internship anyway—I can't possibly complain, it pays the bills. I do love having new clothes." John looked around the living room a bit more. He wasn't sure how to describe it—plush, maybe? Some sort of Chinese watercolor painting hung above the unlit fireplace, and John dragged his socks through the carpet.

"Should we start measuring out the ingredients?" John asked, already uncomfortable under her gaze—her thin smile did not assuage his fear that he was the only thing occupying her mind.

"Don't worry, it will be more fun when we're all together." Vaguely ominous, he thought, but before he had to think of another question to keep the conversation going, the doorbell rang, and Regina cooed in delight. Beth and Juliet arrived simultaneously, and were both delighted to see that John had made good on his promise to show up. The thought occurred to John again that they were all alone, which felt like such an unusual state of affairs that he had to ask Regina to clarify; it was different when they were at the lake, Tom was there.

"My parents are having a romantic dinner somewhere and seeing a movie. They love it when I do things like this."

"And they know that I'm here?"

"Why would they care?" Regina asked as if it were the stupidest question she had ever heard. Everyone there had been promised cookies, and they understood the first step to eating cookies was making them. Before anyone else could volunteer, John rolled up his sleeves and started folding in the two sticks of butter the recipe demanded, leaving his hands encrusted with pleasantly fragrant dough.

"Your skin looks nice, John; what skin products do you use?" Beth asked, only realizing after John's befuddled expression that he most likely had never been asked that question before.

"Am I supposed to be using something? I never pay attention to that sort of thing."

"No, it's fine. Beeswax is good though. Especially for the lips," Regina offered. At least this time she didn't ask him about bras; Juliet did instead, having temporarily forgotten that John had no need for a bra. Once again, John responded in the negative, and Beth explained that Regina had once asked him a very similar question at school when they sat together in the vernal bloom and read romantic couplets to each other.

"You're such a flirt," Juliet added as a compliment, exacerbating John's embarrassment. He was such an idiot back then. He laughed anyway, the same way they did when they asked him what facial features he found attractive and why he hadn't taken the initiative at some point to seek a girlfriend. "We have some very attractive friends we could set you up with," Juliet offered.

"And how come I've never met any of them? It's like I only see the three of you, all as kind of interchangeable, and nobody else."

"Why, that's absolutely ridiculous! We have many friends, and, well, I guess they just have different interests. You need to get out more, John," Regina declared. "Sometime we're all going to show up to your house unannounced and take you out to a blind date with someone." The timer on the oven rang, and Regina took the cookies out of the oven; they looked just as beautiful as Instagram had promised. When Regina suggested a movie night as to fully enjoy the fruits of their labor, John said yes without question, partially due to his parents all but insisting he not wimp out. They settled on The Princess Bride, which somehow none of them had watched before, and John sat down just far enough from the others to not feel too weird. The only tangible souvenir of his outing was a tiny box of cookies, which he shared with his parents when they returned home. They all agreed they tasted excellent.

As soon as Tom saw John on Monday after class, he wanted to know exactly what he had done with "the girls," as he called them; he did not buy John's argument that he was an honorary girl and thus included. John assured him that he had sat a comfortable distance away from Regina, and that he did not ask her for the glass of water, she had given it to him.

"I don't want you to get your hopes up, John, that things like this happen all the time. You're a lucky guy, you know. Don't go off to some steamy paradise without letting me go first."

"I think there's nothing to it Tom, nothing that you seem to understand. Everything's innocent and done with the purest of intentions. I am honorable, you are honorable too; Regina said so many nice things about you, even, that I felt sad you weren't there."

"A little grease is what makes this world go round. One hand washes the other. Know what I mean? You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. I'm glad you understand now that we all have somebody to thank for everything. You can't just walk around like you own the place, John, without understanding the sacrifice involved. You owe me one." In the moment, John did not care enough to evaluate the validity of Tom's claim. The green tea they used, apparently fresh from Japantown, smelled so good; Juliet's hand did indeed feel soft and supple, just as she had promised his would too if he only used more lotion (she was simply glad he seemed more receptive than Frank to the idea); and Beth did not mention once that she was dating Behrooz. Nothing could spoil that night, just like nothing could have spoiled that day at the lake; that day was even better, actually. Far more dreamy.

Ms. Liu recounted the fragments of that conversation she had overheard, along with other tangentially related facts that crossed her mind, to Mr. Ivanov over afternoon coffee. He seemed disinterested in the cookies and slightly more curious regarding the people involved:

"I don't have Juliet or Regina, but I do have John and Beth. Frank, yes: he, Pranav, and Jason are in the higher-level physics class. You said you sent Pranav as a spy to the club?"

"Well, that was last year, while I was more certain of his impartiality. This year, either Frank got to him or Pranav was a really good liar last year. I've sent other spies though, and they tell me largely what I'd expect. There's philosophy, there's history, there's propaganda, all of it kind of blends together into a homogeneous mass. The snacks are supposed to be good, though; I had someone steal some of the teabags for me. They really believe in wining and dining their attendees."

"So what's up with the boxes? That's a club thing too?" Mr. Ivanov had reluctantly let Alan store a box underneath a table, and had regretted that decision when he saw an unusual amount of his students regard it with a wary scrutiny. His first instinct was to call the bomb squad before they explained that it was most likely one of many boxes—and no, not multiple bombs.

"I can't say I've heard anything more than you have. I don't see what it has to do with the club though. I remember the good old days when students were bottle-flipping. This is weird. I don't know what to do."

"Well, who cares? It's not our job," Mr. Ivanov laughed. This appeared to be a mutually acceptable compromise, and so they changed the subject.

Discussion Questions:

Characterize the dynamic between Frank and Juliet. Would you consider it flirtatious?

Contrast what we've seen of the bureaucracy within Heller with the bureaucracy the club has created.

What explains John's discomfort when baking cookies with the squad, and what makes this different from when they were at the lake?