“Where are you right now?” I stick my hand out the window, grasping at the wind. “Wandering the halls of East Linfield High to a chant of Porny Poppy! Porny Poppy!” “Fine,” Alex says gently. “I won’t make you visit my classroom to teach Billy Joel Radio History. But just so you know …” He looks at me, face serious, voice deadpan. “If any of my juniors called you Porny Poppy, I’d fucking waste them.” “That has to be,” I say, “the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me.
