“Let’s see if this works,” Bryan grumbled after school the next day as he tensely fiddled with the miniature trebuchet we were building for our physics class. “Just going to wedge this piece in here—”
There was a snap of wood, and Bryan cursed.
“Maybe I should handle the fragile woodworking for now,” I suggested, sitting across from him on my bedroom floor. “You’re wound a little tight today.”
He let out what sounded like a growl, slid the project toward me, stood up, and stalked over to the other side of the room. He ran a hand through his dark brown hair.
“Very tight,” I murmured. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” he snapped.
Bryan had been acting weird and tense all day. Ever since he slipped into my bedroom before school and had his eyes on me like he was looking for injuries.
“Clearly,
