I didn’t try harder the next day.

I sat in the same seat near the back, watched Mr. Harlan write equations across the board, and let the numbers blur into nothing. Every time his eyes passed over me I felt a low, traitorous pulse between my legs. When he called on me near the end of class, I stood, walked to the board, and deliberately made the same kind of careless mistakes as before. A few students glanced at each other. Mr. Harlan simply watched, expression unreadable, then set the chalk down.

“Office,” he said. “After the bell.”

My stomach tightened. Heat already pooled low in my body.

When the...