And if you fail my class, you’ll be right back here next year, where I’ll be pulling this kind of stuff all over again.” Vee scowled at him. She is famous for that scowl. It’s a look that does everything but audibly hiss. Apparently immune to it, Coach brought his whistle to his lips, and we got the idea. “Every partner sitting on the left-hand side of the table—that’s your left—move up one seat. Those in the front row—yes, including you, Vee—move to the back.” Vee shoved her notebook inside her backpack and ripped the zipper shut. I bit my lip and waved a small farewell. Then I turned slightly, checking out the room behind me. I knew the names of all my classmates … except one. The transfer. Coach never called on him, and he seemed to prefer it that way. He sat slouched one table back, cool black eyes holding a steady gaze forward. Just like always. I didn’t for one moment believe he just sat there, day after day, staring into space. He was thinking something, but instinct told me I probably didn’t want to know what. He set his bio text down on the table and slid into Vee’s old chair. I smiled. “Hi. I’m Nora.” His black eyes sliced into me, and the corners of his mouth tilted up. My heart fumbled a beat and in that pause, a feeling of gloomy darkness seemed to slide like a shadow over me. It vanished in an instant, but I was still staring at him. His smile wasn’t friendly. It was a smile that spelled trouble. With a promise. I focused on the chalkboard. Barbie and Ken stared back with strangely cheerful smiles. Coach said, “Human reproduction can be a sticky subject—” “Ewww!” groaned a chorus of students. “It requires mature handling. And like all science, the best approach is to learn by sleuthing. For the rest of class, practice this technique by finding out as much as you can about your new partner. Tomorrow, bring a write-up of your discoveries, and believe me, I’m going to check for authenticity. This is biology, not English, so don’t even think about fictionalizing your answers.