He was relieved. “Okay, good.” Then he left before it could become any more awkward than it already was. All this time I had resented him for taking Leo’s place in my life—but even here, I had chosen my best friend well. It made me a little sad to think that Josh might not even exist in the world I was trying to get back to.

I was called out of third period to go to the school counselor’s office. It came over the classroom’s PA system. Exactly what you want to do: draw attention to the last guy in class to want attention, for the one thing he doesn’t want attention drawn to.

Ms. Metts, our school counselor, sat me down, gave me a look that was supposed to be comforting but just felt creepy, and told me she was aware of what happened yesterday—big surprise. Then she began asking questions that were more annoying than the ones on the history quiz she had pulled me out of. How do you feel? Fine. Do you need to talk? No. Have you spoken with your parents about this? Yes. Are they being supportive? I’ll get back to you on that.

When it became clear that she’d get nothing of substance out of me, she handed me a bunch of full-color pamphlets with headings like “Embracing YOU!” and sent me back to class.

I knew the big challenge of the day would be lunch. I was dreading it, because more than hallways and classrooms, the cafeteria was all about social dynamics. I didn’t even know where I should sit. Should I join my usual group, or would that be too uncomfortable? Should I seek out the LGBTQ clique and sit with them? Or should I sit by myself, as I had been lately, and see who made a point of coming over? Then I saw Paul. Turns out he was late today, avoiding the hallway gauntlet before first period. It looked like Paul had made that last choice of sitting by himself, so I went to sit with him. He didn’t seem all that comfortable when I sat down across from him, though.

“You want me to go?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “No, of course not.” Then he added, “Just . . . just no public displays of affection today, okay? At least not here.”

I wasn’t planning on any, but it irked me a bit to hear him say that. “Weren’t you the one who wanted to come out?” I reminded him. “Weren’t you the one ready to break up with me because you thought I wasn’t ready to?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “But I didn’t think me coming out would be a major public event. Now it’s like I’m what’s-her-face who married the prince.”

“Naah,” I said. “I’m no prince. At best I’m like . . . the Douche of Windsor.”