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Mr. Scott claps his hands to get our attention, and we all turn to face him.

“For the next two weeks until we break for the holidays, you are going to focus on documentaries,” says Mr. Scott. “And for this, you will be working in pairs.”

He waits for the class’s groans to subside, mine included. There is nothing worse than a group project—one of you is doing all of the work while your partner remains mysteriously absent or unavailable until it’s time to present. “Take five minutes to pick a partner. You won’t have to show your project to the class unless you choose to, but you’ll be interviewing each other on camera, so start thinking about what would make for an interesting subject.”

“What if your subject is super boring?” asks JJ with a laugh.

“There are no boring subjects,” replies Mr. Scott. “Just boring filmmakers.”

I can’t help it. My eyes go to Ford, even though they should not. He is already looking at me, but he is the last person in this classroom that I should be doing a project with.

Erik, sitting beside me, shifts my way. “Do you want⁠—”

“Grace and I are working together,” Ford announces, in a surly, slightly churlish way I haven’t heard him use when speaking to anyone before.

Erik gives him a dirty look but doesn’t argue.

I don’t argue either, of course.

Once we’ve told Mr. Scott who we’re pairing up with, he sends us outside to get to work. “Don’t rush through it,” he calls as we head to the door. “You’ll be doing this for the next two weeks. Today should just be coming up with the subject, Wednesday and Friday can be spent on interviews, and then you’ll have next week to put them together.”

Ford finds a tree we can sit under—one that can’t be seen from any of the windows inside—and his gaze darts to mine. “Is that okay?” he asks quietly.

It won’t be if my dad finds out, but it’s very rare that I see any school administrators on the lawn. I nod and take a seat across from him, arranging my skirt so it doesn’t show too much.

“So, Grace,” Ford says, “what’s interesting about you?”

“Absolutely nothing,” I say with a quiet smile. “I’m not sure you picked the best partner.”

“There are no boring partners,” he says, “just partners who think they’re boring.”

I laugh. “What about you? I guess we’ll talk about football?”

He shrugs. “Do you actually want to know about football?”

“I want to know if you love it,” I tell him. “Because sometimes I get the feeling...”

“That it’s a means to an end?” he concludes with a short laugh.

I smile. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I have a love-hate relationship with football,” he says. “It’s what’s going to pay my way through four years of college. I’m not good enough to play pro. I already know that. So, what I really want is what comes with the degree. I want to be able to take care of my mom and my sister and a family if I’ve got one. I don’t want anyone I know to worry about how their rent is getting paid ever again.”

The words land in this soft spot that already exists in my chest, a soft spot that is entirely for him. He’s not saying any of this to win points with me—if anything, he seems kind of embarrassed by the admission. Honorable. Increasingly, it seems like the right word for him.

He shrugs, tugging at his tie. “It’s dumb, I know.”

“No,” I correct. “It’s sweet. All of us want the thing we didn’t get growing up, I think. You didn’t get to feel financially secure, so that’s the gift you want to give the people you love.”

His eyes hold mine. “What’s the gift you want to give, then?”

I should have my answer ready, but I really don’t. It’s easier to see other people’s wounds than it is to see your own. “I’m not sure. I guess I’d want people to know I love them even if they don’t make the same choices I would,” I finally whisper.

I want them to know that they get to read books I think are wrong and befriend people I don’t care for and that it won’t change how I feel. That I won’t kick them out of my home because of it.

“You want security too, then,” he says. “Just a different kind. Is that how everyone in your church is? Or is it just your parents?”

“My church shuns anyone who breaks the rules,” I admit. “My cousin broke some of the rules, and it blew up everything. Her mom and my mom are sisters and now they don’t even speak.”