I'm sitting in English, with Dutchy's words from last night still ringing through my head. I've done my best to not make eye contact – or any contact, for that matter – with him all day. So far, I've managed to be successful, but it's a little bit difficult to continue ignoring him now that he's sitting right next to me. I'm embarrassed and ashamed of myself for what I said and how I left last night, and I want to apologize, but frankly I just don't have the balls.

Dutchy's been mopey all day, too. He didn't even try to say hi to me when he walked into class. He just plopped down in his seat and cracked open his book.

I sneak a glance at him. He looks bone-tired, with dark circles under his eyes, and I wonder if he slept at all last night. I look away before he notices me staring at him and go back to reading my own book.

A few minutes later, a folded-up piece of paper falls into my lap. I really should be getting used to these notes by now.

You don't scare me.

I smile. I feel the sudden urge to kiss him, but then I remember just how well it turned out the last time I tried that.

So you don't hate me? I write back. It seems like forever before the note comes back to me.

Hate you? Why would I hate you?

It takes all my strength to resist the urge to jump up and cheer. Because I'm a douche bag. But I'm glad you don't think so.

No, I do think you're a douche bag, he writes. But I like you anyway.

I chuckle softly as I read this. Grinning, I write back. Smart-ass. So, friends?

For now..

This catches me entirely off-guard. I stare, stupefied, at the paper for nearly a minute before I can actually write anything again. What does that mean?

I think... we should talk about this later.

Before I can write back or get any more reading done, the bell rings. I guess I'll have to be confused for a while and have homework tonight. Two things I absolutely hate.

The rest of my classes go by without a hitch, but I don't get much work done because my mind is dwelling on Dutchy's note. But then again, it hasn't been a very busy day schoolwork-wise, so I guess it doesn't really matter.

On my way out of the art classroom, I run into Dutchy. Like, literally run into him.

"Sorry, man," I say, crouching down to help him pick up his photo prints. "I really gotta learn to watch where I'm going."

"It's okay, Specs," he laughs. "I wasn't paying much attention, either." There's one print he seems to take extra care not to let me see. I wonder what it is for a moment, but then I figure it's probably personal and let it go. "So, where ya headed?"

"Choir library." I hand his prints to him. "I gotta get some sheet music for my audition. What about you?"

"Oh, I'm gonna stick some of these in my portfolio, and get some ready to enter for the showcase at the end of the year." He smiles, putting his photographs into the manila folder he's holding. "But that can wait for a little while, if you want some help picking out your music."

We stand in the choir library, dumbfounded. Well, okay, I'm dumbfounded and Dutchy is standing there, smirking at me. Not only is it packed floor-to-ceiling with music, but it's all so freaking complicated. It's going to be next to impossible to find a piece of music that's easy enough for me. I mean, sure, I can read music just fine and all, but I'm nowhere near this level.

"Jesus Christ," I mutter under my breath.

Dutchy just laughs. "Yeah, our choir's kinda hoity-toity about their music."

I look at him, a little aggravated. "No shit, Sherlock."

"Hey, if you don't mind waiting for me to put my photos away, you and I can catch a cab into the city and head to a music shop... Sheet music's pretty cheap and the music stores should have something that's a little below this level." I imagine some Southern lady in a fussy dress, but with my face. My hero! Swoon.

"Are we allowed to go off-campus on weeknights?"

He grins. "Didn't you read your student handbook? As long as we're back before curfew, and don't get in trouble with law enforcement – which is to say, as long as we don't get caught – we're totally okay." He adjusts his bundle of photographs and schoolwork in his arms. "So what do ya say? We'll get dinner and look around the music shops for a little while."

"Well, okay. But I gotta be back here in time to get some of my homework done."

"Yeah, this won't take very long." He jerks his head toward the door, and we head out and up towards his room.

"You got anything you need to grab before we head out?" He says as we walk into his room and he grabs his portfolio.

"Um, I could probably stand to take a sweatshirt along, it might get kinda cool tonight."

"That would probably be a good idea. Why don't you go do that, and I'll call the cab. Meet me back down here in a couple minutes?"

"Sounds like a plan." I head off to my room.

In the city, I'm a little bit nervous. People keep looking at me funny. I've never been anywhere in New York City other than the major tourist spots – you know, Times Square and the like. Dutchy has instructed me to keep my wallet in the pocket of my hoodie rather than the back pocket of my jeans, and as I notice people getting victimized by slick street thieves, I understand why.

We've hit the music store already – it was much easier to navigate than the choir library at Pulitzer's. Dutchy convinced me to pick out a song from a musical – this kid is apparently really into show tunes, which says a lot – and we settled on "Easy Street" from Annie. Dutchy explained to me that while it's simple enough for me to do on my own, it's got enough range for me to really show off. I, however, don't want to show off – I want to be cast aside at auditions. But Dutchy doesn't care.

"If you're going to do something, you might as well do it right," he told me while we were in the music shop. Now that we're sitting on the guardrail of a subway staircase, eating dinner (and keep in mind that tonight, dinner equals pretzels and pizza from a street-corner vendor), that phrase keeps ringing through my head. It seems to be true for everything lately.

"So I'm thinking, since my audition's right before yours, we can go together," Dutchy says as he shoves a chunk of mustard-soaked pretzel into his mouth. "We could even warm up together beforehand." It's adorable, the way he sounds when he talks with his mouth full. Pure New Yorker.

"That sounds good." I take a bite of my pizza, and smile, because it's so much better than cafeteria food.

Dutchy goes silent for a minute, and I figure he's just enjoying his pretzel. But then he speaks, tentatively. "Specs," he says, swallowing his pretzel. "Um... do you think it's weird, or wrong, that I kind of wanted you to kiss me yesterday?"

And we're back to the kiss. As if it hadn't made things awkward enough. I sigh. "Do you think it's weird or wrong?"

"Yeah... well, no... I don't know. That's why I asked you." He takes a drink from his soda.

"Well, Dutch, it isn't really about what I think here." I smile comfortingly as I look at him. "What I think isn't going to help you sort out what you're feeling."

He just stares at me. I hate when he looks at me like that.

I clear my throat. "See, I don't think it's wrong that you wanted that. I think it's great. And I think it would be even greater if you kind of wanted to bone me. But that isn't going to help you out." Dutchy laughs and shakes his head.

"Let's get a cab and get back to school."