“I remember,” I snap. I couldn’t forget if I tried, and I definitely try. Pretty sure no one at my old high school will be forgetting Amy Jelinsky publicly declaring that she was tired of dating a wannabe football player, or Jenna Pressley saying no one should date me because I had gross callused hands, or Iva Kellerman hooking up with me for weeks until we got caught and she spread some lesbian predator shit about me rather than admit that she literally begged me to get her off in the back seat of her car. Yes, there were things I loved about being there, especially the two people I’m talking to right now, but coming to Atherton wasn’t exactly leaving one Garden of Eden for another.

Every high school has its people who just fucking suck, especially when you’re queer.

“It’s not like that,” I add flatly, but I don’t have proof it isn’t and they know it and this conversation is over before it even began. (Why was I so excited for this virtual friend date again?) “But anyway, I should go. I rolled my ankle at practice and I need to go ice it some more.”

We all know it’s a lie—they’ve seen me ice my various injured body parts plenty in the small tub I keep in my room—but the awkwardness and discomfort are palpable, so they take the excuse and we say goodbye.

And once again, I’m alone and wondering what the hell is wrong with me that I keep making choices that everyone but me thinks suck.

When I get to practice the next day, I’m feeling up for a fight, and my timing is perfect, because it looks like the entire team feels the same way. Fucking great. While I was suiting up in the empty girls’ locker room, they were turning into a single-minded force, just waiting for me in a semicircle on the grass, arms folded and eyes blazing.

Coach is nowhere to be found.

Dan Sanchez steps forward, apparently the appointed spokesman for the team. “Duggan wants his spot back,” he says without preamble.

Jesus H. Christ. Who has time for this shit? “Oh really?” I turn to Tim, whose biceps in his cutoff T are proof he hasn’t been hitting the weight room beyond our required biweekly sessions. I could take this kid in my sleep. “You want ‘your’ spot back, Duggan?”

Everything in his shaky nod tells me what I need to know.