“Avery is a senior,” Mike says, turning back to his Geometry. “Been here all four years. He’s in the choir.”
Jacob wonders if he’s as bored there as he looked on the altar. He can picture it, that boy in the choir. Probably has a pretty voice, too. Jacob thinks someone who looks like that would probably sing soprano, and squeal when he comes. And thatthought does bad things to his stomach. He’s sixteen, but he’s fooled around enough to know that most guys aren’t quiet when they come. He sure isn’t.
“A senior?” Jacob tries to keep his voice light, disinterested, but inside, his blood is boiling and his thoughts whirl out in all sorts of crazy directions.