“You were great at Leo’s last night.” I look up from my notebook the next afternoon at the Vanier library to see a slender blond guy from class leaning over my chair. “Jorge,” he volunteers. “We survived acting intensive together with Ms. Miranda Tamayo.” “Right.” I smile back. I don’t remember seeing him at Leo’s, but most of the night I was distracted—by my need to prove myself and by the one guy who could ruin my chances of doing that. “Homework?” Jorge nods to my notebook. “No, actually. Just writing.” I used to force my brain to work in logic and answers and solutions. Getting good grades meant everything...