Speaking of which, when I look at the Adema stats in Iran, I discover Iranians are far worse off than here. Their hospitals are overwhelmed across the country, and the government is actively downplaying the number of cases. Sixty percent of the country is under the age of thirty, which means the majority of the population is the most vulnerable to this disease. And the worst part is, they don’t have enough ventilators or PPE because of the US sanctions. I wonder, when the history books are written, whether we will be the good guys or the bad guys. By we, I don’t even know if I mean the United States or Iran. I feel attached to both places.

My phone pings, and I look at it, hoping it’s a text from Gabriela. It’s not. It’s just Wes reaching out to see whether Gabs plans to work any catering events with her moms or if she’s going to take shifts at Katie’s Diner if they reopen. I’m pretty sure a statewide lockdown makes the answers to his questions obvious and that he’s just digging for information. I write him back with a revolutionary thought: Maybe he could just text Gabriela himself to find out.

I’m healthy for now, too. Thanks for asking, I text, with an eyeroll emoji.

Wes was my friend first. We met in summer camp when we were kids, and I introduced him to Gabriela after we all ended up together at Winchester. He fell in love with her immediately, and she just as quickly made it clear to me that he would only ever be her friend. But, like most mediocre white males, Wes hasn’t given up on getting Gabriela to change her mind. That’s not fair, actually. Wes isn’t mediocre at all. He’s one of the funniest and kindest and most loyal guys I’ve ever met, and he is basically a musical prodigy. Our marching brass is the best one in the district, and that’s one hundred percent due to his expertise. In addition to playing the trumpet, he also plays guitar and writes all his own songs. But he’s also six feet tall and rail thin and had that unfortunate incident with his bowels our freshman year that has followed him his entire high school career.

Personally, I don’t think there’s any hope for him and Gabriela, which is too bad, because he’s the only guy who’s good enough for her. A small part of me would love the idea of them being together, but a bigger part of me lives in abject terror of losing them both forever if that happens. He texts back and apologizes and asks me how I’m doing. I tell him to stop bothering me. I’m trying to focus on my Pearl Harbor essay.