And just across the hall is another door with a light on underneath it. I step across and quickly knock on the door, saying, “Devin, I really hope it’s you in there.”

I wait a minute and consider if maybe I should slink away quickly before the door opens and one of Devin’s parents’ friends finds me creeping on them outside the bathroom. Then the door opens slowly, and Devin peeks out at me. “What?”

But eir voice sounds kind of shaky, so I say, “Are you okay? You’ve been gone a while.”

Eir breath hitches, and e says, “I’m sorry, I just—”

“It’s okay,” I say. I pause a moment before adding, “If you’re not okay, that’s okay too. I mean, if you want to talk to me about something, you can. I’m down to listen.”

Eir eyes widen a little, and then e says, “Can you just give me a minute? I’ll meet you in my room.”

I nod, and e closes the door.

I sit on eir bed because I don’t really know what else to do. I don’t want to go through eir stuff because that seems horribly invasive, but I also feel awkward just sitting there staring at the sketches e’s hung from eir wall. They’re nice, though—some concrete landscapes and some abstract swirls of color. It almost feels like I’m getting a peek into eir head for a moment even though I’m not entirely sure what any of it means.

The bathroom door opens, and then Devin enters the room, eir face pale as e sits down next to me.

“I—” E freezes, and we plunge into silence. I want to reassure em that e can talk to me, but I don’t know how. I don’t want to pressure em into speaking if e’s not ready.

Finally, I say, “I had the croquetas. They were great, like you said.”

And Devin smiles at me, but I know it’s forced, and God, I just want to reach into eir mind and figure out what’s wrong so I can fix it.

Finally, e says, “I’m sorry. I invited you here to have a good time and now I’m just—”

“Stop,” I say. “Stop torturing yourself. You haven’t done anything wrong, all right? I’m just worried about you.”

Devin swallows and twines eir hands together. “I don’t want to be a burden on you.”

“You’re not,” I say. “You’re my friend, and I want to help. Please talk to me.”

“I’ve just had a lot of anxiety since this morning.”

“About the party?” I ask.