“Touch, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. It was for the best.”

“Are you still going to go to clown school?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” There was a heavy sigh again. Guy could’ve sent a windmill spinning. “I’m kind of frustrated with theater stuff. Don’t get me wrong—I like the clown stuff that I’ve been learning. I can be the clown. But if I go do clown school for a year, I wonder if everyone will only ever see me as a clown. I’ll be pigeonholing myself. Like, no one will ever see me as a leading man.”

“I see you as a leading man,” I said.

“You obviously don’t,” he said. “That’s part of what I’ve been saying.”

“What are you talking about? I always think you deserve the lead.”

“The one you see as a leading man is someone like Oliver. Someone muscular and tall and rugged-looking and handsome. You don’t see me. You don’t see the guy with freckles and red hair and the gluten allergy,” he said. “You know how many people in the workshop just assumed I was gay?”

“So what?” I said.

“Well, I’m not,” he said. “I need more male friends. I need to hang out with Sil, from the workshop. I need to hang out with people like my brothers.”

“Your brothers are meatheads,” I said.

“Meatheads have leading-man energy,” he said. “A meathead wouldn’t order salad.”

“What if you hung out with Oliver? I could set you two up on a friend date.”

“I have absolutely no desire to hang out with Oliver Teller! I’d rather eat nuts and bolts than hang out with him! Have you been listening to anything I’ve been saying?” Touchstone said.

“I thought you said you wanted male friends.…”

He threw his fork down, looking exasperated. “You know what? Never mind. I take it all back. I don’t need more male friends at all. I don’t want to hang out with Oliver. I don’t want to hang out with my brothers, even. What I want is to hang out with you, which is somehow very difficult to get you to do, even though we’re supposed to be best friends. Not to mention the fact that we live together.”

He sounded angry, and I shrank back into my seat, staring at my half-eaten sandwich. Touchstone rubbed his eye socket with the heel of his hand.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m not trying to yell at you, or guilt you, anything. I just have a lot on my mind.”

“That’s okay,” I said.