I considered my next words carefully. “Did you talk to any of my classmates . . .”

“We asked some of them if they knew where you were,” my dad said. “Joonam, azizam, what’s wrong?”

My life, my dear. Whenever I got upset, my dad went overkill with Persian terms of endearment.

“What happened?” I heard my sister pipe up in the background.

“Where are you, Amir?” my mom asked.

I was freaking out. My mom and dad sounded so genuinely concerned over the phone. They sounded like they loved me. It made me feel like even more of a fraud.

An announcement blared overhead: “Welcome to New York-Kennedy International Airport . . .”

My mom and dad started talking all at once, interrupting each other. “Amir, are you at an airport?” “Amir, are you in New York?” “Amir, what’s wrong?” Amir, Amir, Amir . . .

I hung up the phone.

I stood there, motionless, in the middle of the bustling airport. Jake hadn’t told them. He’d backed out.

Someone’s suitcase bumped into my leg then, so I moved. I wandered aimlessly around the airport. I had no idea what to do. I felt lost, with my duffel and all the sounds. The people around me. I realized I still had my earbuds in.

My plan had backfired.

I couldn’t go back home. If I did, I’d have to explain to my parents why I had run away and deal with the ensuing explosion in person. And even if I did manage to come up with an excuse for why I’d skipped my own graduation, Jake would still be holding my secret over me. Maybe he hadn’t backed out, after all. Maybe he had instead figured out a way to level up his blackmail.

I found a bathroom and went into a stall. (I’ve watched enough teen movies to know that this is the best place to deal with life crises.) I checked my phone again and saw that Jackson had texted me. So had my friends from Maryland. My mom must have gotten in touch with them.

Today’s choose-your-own-fucked-up-adventure was supposed to go down one of two ways. If my parents told me they accepted me as gay, I’d come right back home. If they didn’t, I would start a new life. But what was I supposed to do now?

I stumbled out of the bathroom and nearly smacked headlong into one of those glowing departures boards. I stared up at the endless list of cities.

Why was I so afraid of going home? Why couldn’t I be brave, march right up to my parents and tell them what had happened, the reason I wasn’t at my own graduation? Why couldn’t I come out to them? Why couldn’t I just say the words?

My eyes flickered around the list of cities. Chicago. San Francisco. Atlanta. Each one was an invitation, an escape hatch, a safe haven.

My phone was buzzing. It had been buzzing the entire time, I realized, like I had a vibrator strapped onto my thigh. But I couldn’t pick up. I just couldn’t. But I also couldn’t stay in New York; my parents knew that I was here. They could find me here.