That’s how it was for me when I got to school on Tuesday morning—and although part of me knew that a lot of people either were not aware or couldn’t care less about my self-outing yesterday, I was incapable of making the paranoid part of me believe it.

There were some people who clearly knew, though—which, in retrospect, was probably about one-third of the people I thought did. Some were kind, some were cruel, and some were in between.

Before I got to my locker a few people came up to me. A girl I knew, but whose name I didn’t, said, “That was really brave of you, Ash.” I thanked her without giving away the fact that I couldn’t remember her name, then made a mental note to find out her name, just because.

Then there were the unpleasant comments. No one said them to me directly, but they were spoken between friends, and loudly enough to make sure I heard.

“He oughta change his football position to tight end,” I heard someone say—as if he actually believed that was clever and original.

Another kid who overheard turned to me and said, “Don’t waste your energy on them. Losers will be losers.”

It was good advice, but it burned me to just let the guy get away with it. I have always tended toward a quick temper. My parents often advised me that I needed to pick my battles—funny because that advice was most useful against them. I realized that today was a pick-your-battle sort of day. So I let the snide comments roll off my back—but I also kept track of who uttered them, because I am not above payback when the opportunity presents itself.

Through all of this, I didn’t see Paul. I wondered if he decided to stay home today. I almost did—but I knew my absence would be conspicuous. Besides, if people are gonna talk behind my back, I’d rather they do it in front of my face.

Josh Easley—the wide receiver who had taken Leo’s place as my best friend—came up to me while I was at my locker, just before first period.

“So is it true?” he asked. “Or is it a stunt? Because your dad told my dad it was just a stunt.”

It pissed me off that my father was trying to create spin on the situation—but then, maybe he did it before our conversation last night.

“It wasn’t a stunt,” I told Josh.

He nodded. “I didn’t think so.” Then he looked at me, with a kind of searching expression on his face. “So . . . are we still friends?”

It struck me as odd that he’d think we weren’t. “Yeah,” I said. “Of course.”