“He’s, um—” He hasn’t spoken or left his room, really. If I thought things were bad before this, well, let’s say the dominoes in my life haven’t just fallen; they’ve thrown themselves on the ground and now they’re playing dead. I look up into his face, and something about his nose and his eyebrows—the whole arrangement of his features—makes me feel safe. “I don’t think he’s doing okay.”

I’m about to say more, but down the hall Gene is coming toward us. I don’t know how to be in the presence of both of them. Maybe I’ll burst into a couple of pieces: only some of them Gene will recognize. Most of them Brendan will.

“Are you gonna be okay not to throw things at him?” Brendan whispers.

I burst out laughing, even though nothing else in me feels capable of it. “No promises.”

“Well, catch ya later, Cham. Hey, Gene,” Brendan says, walking away.

“’Sup, dude,” Gene says with a head nod. Brendan’s tutu brushes Gene’s khakis as he heads down the hall. I watch him go, avoiding Gene’s face as long as possible. His tie is loose, and his blue-gray eyes don’t show how everything has changed between us. All those butterflies that used to fill my stomach when I saw him? They die. I’m a receptacle for a bunch of dead things that once knew how to fly.

“Hey, so this is kinda awkward, but”—Gene reaches into his pocket and pulls out my prom ticket—“I figured I should give this to you so you can get into prom and everything. No need to pay me back,” he says quickly.

“Okay.” I take the ticket from him. Our fingers do not brush during this exchange. We are bits of space debris on a parallel course, and even though I never pay attention in science, I know their solitary fate.

“I miss you,” I accidentally whisper, then stare out the window into the courtyard so I don’t have to look at him.

“It sucks—” he starts to say, and for a second, I think that maybe it isn’t over. For a second, I am wrong. The bell rings.

“I’m sorry it has to be like this,” he adds.

“Didn’t I mean anything to you?” I blurt out.

“Of course you did, but—”

“I just didn’t mean enough to you.”

There are fewer and fewer people in the hallway. I don’t know if they’re looking at us. For once I don’t think I care.

“You did, but I have to get to going, Cham, I’m sorry.”

He starts to walk away, and the veins in my fist bulge. I’m speechless, dumb.

“So that’s it?” I call after him. But you made me feel special. And isn’t that what it comes down to? We all have this tiny secret belief that we’re a freaking treasure, and even though we shave our legs and leave patches on our knees and sometimes fall asleep without brushing our teeth, we still think we’re special, maybe even magnetic. Not so magnetic that when we walk by the kitchen, pots and pans fly out of the cabinets and attach themselves to us, but strong enough not to be replaced by someone else in thirty-five minutes.