The day after his embarrassing loss, Dean walked up to his locker to find Ruby and Sam there. Did Sam really need to be spending so much time with his lab partner? Dean tried to calm the paranoid frog that lives within all of us. Rrrrrrribbbit. Sam is going to pursue chemistry in college and spend the rest of his life in a lab coat laughing like a supervillain. Rrrrrrribbit.

"Dean, guess what Ruby heard. Ruby, tell Dean what you heard."

Dean looked at Ruby expectantly. Ruby looked back, her optical mushbits shining with the sass of a thousand moons. "Mr. Alastair is looking for some girl named Anna. She's been skipping math and he's going to give her detention... or worse. She's missed a week of school now."

"So?" Dean decided that he didn't like this Ruby. She was deciding the same thing. That she disliked him, not that she disliked herself. She probably loved herself, Dean thought. She was probably one of those people that posted millions of selfies on Instagram, all of them exactly the same expression.

"So," Sam interrupted, "she's on the run from your least favorite teacher. How could we not help her?"

Alastair was hunting down some innocent student... Damnit, Dean knew he had to help. He could see her name in his mind's eye, in sad pencil written on graph paper lined with sorrow... sorrow with a domain and range that included all real numbers. He had graded her math homework.

Wait a minute! She was that one hot redhead from third period! He ran down the hallway to the computer lab. He was gonna tap dat.

"Um, bye?" Sam called after him.

"Don't worry about him," Ruby said. "You have more practicing to do." She took a periodic table out of her book bag. "Let's talk about Avogadro's number."

Dean spent first period sifting through all of Samuel Colt High School's Annas on Facebook, squinting at profile pictures, and finally messaged an Anna Milton he decided was her. She IMed in response, "meet me on the third floor."

After walking up and down the third floor twice, a strange hissing voice called his name, making him spin around as a lynx does in a wizard duel. Dean saw a pale thin hand slowly wriggle out of a vent high on the wall. It sunk its long fingernails into the screws holding the top of the vent door to the wall, and with a creepy ass squeaking noise, twisted them off. The vent door swung down, revealing Ana, dirty on the face and a bit ripped up on the shirt. "Come up in here and we'll talk," she rasped. "We have much to discuss."

"Um." Dean looked around, surprised that nobody was poking their head out of a classroom at the horror movie noises. "We could just talk down here."

"Our enemies are everywhere, Dean."

"We could find an empty classroom."

"I don't think you understand the situation I am in, Dean. I can't walk these halls during the day."

"Um, I think you totally can, so jump down here or I won't help you avoid Alastair. Why are you up there anyway? Like seriously, the fuck."

"But that's the thing. I don't even know why Alastair is looking to give me detention! I don't remember skipping math class. I don't even remember having math class!"

"What, do you have amnesia or something? Lost your memory? Seriously?" Dean was no longer gonna tap dat. Anna slid out of the vent, and when she stood next to Dean, the heavy stench of pot stood right next to both of them.

"Wait, are you just getting stoned in the vents during math class? That's why you don't remember math class?" Up close, Dean could see her eyes were as red as the everlasting oceans of Mars.

"I don't know anymore," Anna whispered.

Anna perked up her ears, staring with alarm into empty space. "Second period is almost over." She grabbed Dean and climbed back up the walls using his shoulders as a ladder.

"Wait!" Dean said as she crawled back into the vent. "How long have you been up there? What do you eat? Are you the reason the entire school has smelled like pot for the last week?"

But she was gone, and the bell had rung. Dean stared at the wall, wondering if she ate rats. He sighed and headed off to his next class. It was across the school, but hey, it wouldn't be the first time he was late to Latin.

By the time he reached the class, the hallways were empty, and a familiar trench coated figure was standing directly in front of the door.