Another girl chimed in, “Also this is a peanut-free classroom, Mr. Brennan. I’m not allergic but some people could be.”

“Ladies, the snacks are peanut-free. Dig in, and I’ll take the heat.” Chris watched the students take their seats. He’d arranged the desks the conventional way, five rows of six desks. He hadn’t assigned them specific seating because he wanted to observe the friendships that had already formed.

Chris returned his attention to the hallway and spotted Evan, Jordan, and Raz walking toward him, looking at something on Evan’s smartphone. Chris had researched them on social media and knew that Evan Kostis was the most popular, a rich kid with a doctor father, so Evan wasn’t his first choice for a pawn. Evan was the handsome one, with brown eyes, a thin nose, and thick black hair that he kept flipping back. He had a winning smile, undoubtedly thanks to orthodonture, and he dressed cool in a red Patagonia vest, Musketeers hoodie, slim jeans, and Timberland boots that looked new.

Next to Evan was Mike Sematov, whose unruly black hair curled to his shoulders. Sematov had bushy eyebrows and round dark eyes, and he was hyper, trying to grab Kostis’s phone. Sematov’s nickname was Raz, evidently from Rasputin, his Twitter handle was cRAZy, and his Facebook feed was usually videos of people vomiting or popping zits and abscesses. Sematov was an excellent possibility because his father had passed away in August from pancreatic cancer. It wasn’t easy to find a kid with a dead father, and Chris thought Raz might be a winner, unless the boy was too cRAZy.

Chris shifted his attention to another possibility, Jordan Larkin. Jordan was six-foot-one, but his stooped manner made him look awkward, all gangly legs and arms. The boy had a longish face with fine-boned features, but his hazel eyes were set close together and his hair, a nondescript brown, was too short. He dressed inexpensively, in a blue Musketeers Baseball sweatshirt, generic gray sweatpants, and Adidas’s knockoff slides. Best of all, Jordan was the son of a single mother, which was almost as good as a dead father.

Chris smiled and extended a hand as the three boys reached the classroom. “I’m Mr. Brennan, gentlemen. Welcome to AP Government. I’ll be coaching you guys, too.”

Evan was the first to shake Chris’s hand, looking him directly in the eye. “Evan Kostis. Ahoy! Welcome on board!”

“Good to meet you, Evan.” Chris was about to turn to Jordan just as Sematov thrust his hand forward.

“Mr. Brennan, yo, I’m Mike Sematov but call me Raz. You don’t look like Ms. Merriman.” Raz smiled goofily.

“Can’t fool you!” Chris kept his smile on, making a mental note of the fact that Sematov had offered his nickname and a handshake. The gestures suggested that Raz wanted a connection with him, so maybe there was something Chris could build on. “Raz, go in and pick a desk. Also I put out snacks for everybody.”

“Awesome!” Raz’s dark eyes lit up, and he ducked inside the classroom.

“Sweet!” Evan bolted after him, leaving Jordan alone with Chris, who extended a hand to the boy.

“You must be Jordan Larkin. Great to meet you.”

“Thanks.” Jordan shook Chris’s hand, breaking eye contact to peek inside the classroom. “Are you for real about snacks? You know, they freak if we eat in the classroom.”

“What they don’t know won’t hurt ’em,” Chris said, then added, improvising, “We’re celebrating. It’s my birthday.”

Jordan smiled, surprised. “Oh, jeez. Happy birthday.”

“Don’t say anything, I don’t want to make a fuss.”

“Sure.” Jordan looked away, and Chris felt he had scored a point, co-opting the boy. Meanwhile Evan and Raz were racing each other to the snacks, and the only empty desks left were the first seats in each row. The remaining snacks were a soft pretzel and two apples.

“I call the pretzel!” Raz bolted toward the desk with the soft pretzel.

“I saw it first!” Evan chased after him, hip-checking Raz to grab the pretzel.

“Dude, yo!” Raz said, mock-outraged.

“Loser says what?” Evan shoved the pretzel in his mouth and claimed the desk, making the class laugh.

“Okay, everybody, let’s get started!” Chris closed the classroom door, and the laughter slowly began to subside. Raz slumped into the desk at the head of the row, sulking as he set down his backpack. Jordan took the last empty desk, at the head of the row closest to Chris’s desk, then he accepted the apple without complaint. The transaction confirmed to Chris that Evan Kostis was the leader, Raz was a question mark, and Jordan was the follower.

“Class, as I said, my name is Mr. Brennan and I’ll be replacing Ms. Merriman. I have her syllabus, and we’ll try to pick up where she left off.” Chris clapped his hands together to get their attention, since they hadn’t settled down. “I’m new in town. I grew up in the Midwest, taught in Wyoming, and I think we’re going to have a fine rest of the semester.”

“Can you ride horses?” Raz called out, and Chris took it as another attempt to make a connection.

“Yes I can,” Chris answered, which was true. “Anything else you want to know? I’m happy to answer a few questions.”

“Are you married?” one of the girls called out.

“No, I’m not,” Chris answered to hooting and giggling.

“Are you a dog person or cat person?” asked another girl, the one who worried about peanut allergies. Her name was Sarah Atkinson, Chris knew but didn’t let on.

“I like all animals but I don’t have any pets right now. I’m not allowed. Last question?”

“Boxers or briefs?” Raz shouted, then burst into laughter, joined by the rest of the class.

“No comment.” Chris smiled, then motioned for them to settle down. “All right, let’s jump right in. I’m going to assume that you read the materials Ms. Merriman posted on her webpage and I reposted them on mine. That’s how I’m going to run this class, too. Government derives its power from the consent of the governed. We also have a social compact, you and I.”

The students began pulling out their three-ring binders, spiral-bound notebooks, finding pens and pencils from their backpacks. They weren’t allowed to use laptops in class.

“My webpage has the syllabus, the assignments, and the quiz and test schedule. Class participation is a third of your grade.” Chris walked to his desk, which contained the Teacher’s Edition of their textbook How Government Works, the black binder of his notes for class, and a class roster with students’ faces, none of whom he cared about except Evan, Jordan, and Raz. He consulted it before he asked the next question. “Mr. Samins, Andrew Samins? Let’s start with the readings. What was the first social compact in this country?”