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“Yeah, but don’t tell anyone.” Jase puts a finger against his mouth and shhhs. I laugh at this. Returning to a serious voice, he adds, “Karthik’s ex said the teacher’s forgetful,”

I’m usually anxious when people forget things. But for the first time, I’m thankful that Wilson High’s photography teacher is like that.

Jase helps me search through the cabinet, the shelves cluttered with cameras, tripods, extra lenses, and gloss and matte paper. But no ink. We look through the desk drawers, which are conveniently and unsurprisingly unlocked. Nothing. I scrub my hands against my face. Is this the universe’s way of telling me that I should drop out?

But when I think about my photo, the one I should present today, which is squished between the pages of my Atè’s yearbook, I say, “Let’s try another classroom.”

Jase nods in agreement. “There’s a really nice printer in the art classroom. A girl who graduated from here donated it because she loved this place, especially the art classes.”

I unplug the printer, then double-check to see if I’ve left any proof that I used it.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Making sure I didn’t leave any fingerprints,” I explain, like I do this on a normal basis.

He just looks at me for a second before laughing. “You worry too much.”

“You worry too less.”

“Ouch, you bully, you hurt my feelings.”

“I’m absolutely despicable, aren’t I?”

Just like that we’re laughing again. It’s nice to have this kind of banter when my stress level is nearing an all-time high.

After making sure the printer is the way it was when we entered, I look over at Jase, who’s rearranging everything in the cabinet. I help him out.

“Didn’t think you were into organizing,” I say.

“I’m not,” Jase says, placing two lenses neatly beside each other. “But you were worrying about the printer, so I figured you’d probably worry about the cabinet, too.”

Actually, he’s right. Is he arranging everything to its original place to help me make sure we don’t leave any evidence that we snuck in here? The warmth from earlier fills my heart again, this time stronger than before. Jase pushes the cabinet doors to make sure they’re closed.

We head back to the window, and Jase peeks through the curtains. “Oh, shit!”

“Get back in!” I don’t know why I whisper-shout this. I’m just tarnishing my goody-two-shoes title even more by hiding and escaping.

Jase’s face freezes, and he waves for me to come over. “Uh, Emilyn.”

I gulp as I walk to his side, curling my fingers into my palms, feeling them drench with sweat. Well, there goes goody-two-shoes Emilyn Padilla.

“Yeah?” I peek through the curtains, arm brushing beside Jase, only to see no one outside the window. Crap. They must be making their way to the door, ready to open it and punish us with whatever disciplinary actions they see fit.

“It’s the...” Jase leans towards my ears and whispers, “...the ghost janitors!”

I fire him a glare. Jase bursts out laughing, and his ha ha ha’s ring in my ears.

“Let’s just go,” I say, fighting off a smile.

Jase slides the window shut, and I do the same with the curtains.

He leads me into the art classroom—we enter through the window again—and flicks on the switch.

“Guard the door?” I ask.

“From who? All the people who aren’t here?”

“Just do it.” I throw him a leer, which he reciprocates with a cackle.