He texts me, a quick “Hey,” wondering where I am, and why I haven’t texted him for a whole two hours. I answer with a heart. He finds it reassuring rather than placating—because he believes I’m too transparent to be anything but sincere. He even believes in his own sincerity, his own virtue, entirely unaware of how self-serving he often is. But I digress. Back to the parking lot.

As he nears his car, he hears the grinding sound of polyurethane wheels on asphalt. He ignores it, figuring it has nothing to do with him, until he hears an unfamiliar voice call his name.

“Layton! Wait up!”

He turns to see a skater heading his way. Layton immediately checks his pockets, thinking maybe he dropped his wallet or something, and this guy saw it and is bringing it to him, to earn some brownie points with the Big Man on Campus. Or more likely, the dude stole it, and is going to pretend like he found it, but empty of all its cash. That’s how Layton might think. Always suspicious. But his wallet is in his pocket and his keys and phone are in hand. So what is this about?

The skater rolls up to him, but in truth it doesn’t seem like he’s moving at all; it’s like the world is moving around him. Layton may or may not be observant enough to notice this.

“Can I help you?” he says, although he’s thinking What the hell do you want?

“No, but I think I can help you,” the skater says. “I have something you’ll want to see.”

Layton is wary. The skater senses that and keeps his distance, taking out his phone and holding it up. Then he waits for Layton’s curiosity to ignite, thereby powering the rest of their encounter.

The skater brings up a video on his phone. It’s a video of me. Not the public one that outed me in a previous reality, but one from this reality. It’s a very private moment that no one was supposed to see, much less record. It was a moment I wished could be forgotten, but instead it’s been memorialized. Because the Edwards were watching. I should have known they’d be watching.

The scene is of me sitting at my dining table, last night. Whoever’s taking the video is just outside the window. Paul is next to me, showing me an equation. It’s all about math right until the moment I lean over and kiss him.

And Layton’s entire brain—his entire identity—detonates when he sees that. His face tightens. He begins to steam. He’s like a bull preparing to charge.

“Who the hell are you, and where did you get this?”

“Doesn’t matter,” the skater says. “All that matters is what you see. And what you’ll do about it.”