“Until then?”

“I continue to mount my tiny rebellions. I’m like the guy who puts itching powder in the quarterback’s jockstrap before the game.”

Does a guy like that exist? Were we still in sports analogy territory? “Do all of the Purity Pledgers know you’re gay?”

“Maybe not Ralph and Bobby. I don’t think they know much of anything beyond their video games and hormones. Kiera knows, so the other girls probably do, too. We don’t talk about it.”

“Why tell me all this now?”

“So you know I’m being honest when I say you really have helped all of us in the Pledge. My parents are extreme with the laser-focused holiness, but the rest of them have their own barriers. Thanks to Newsome. I hope you’ll still want to help when I say this next, very honest thing.”

He let that hang, like he needed me to agree before moving forward. “Okay.”

“There’s not much more we can do with your Kiera situation.”

My stomach twisted like an old dishrag, but I couldn’t say I was totally surprised.

“Don’t be mad,” said Jameer, “she’s been really different since she broke up with Colossus. And, she needs—”

“Time. I got it. It’s cool.” I didn’t want to talk about this anymore.

We’d reached an intersection, and though we still needed to go in the same direction a ways before we split for our separate neighborhoods, Jameer said, “I think I’m going to walk downtown and get a burger.”

He didn’t invite me to come along. I wouldn’t have accepted if he had. I preferred him when he had more of a “can do” spirit.

“See you tomorrow,” I said, and turned my bike toward home before he could respond.

I stewed the whole way, recalling every little moment since the Sunday I joined the Pledge, looking for the missteps and missed opportunities that had me still trying to crack the code on Kiera. She needed time and space, but there had to be a way to, subtly, let her know a guy like me was worth giving some of that time and allowing into her space. More so than an ass dude like Mason.

The problem lingered, until I turned onto my street and spotted my car in our driveway. My carjacking sister had returned. I jogged my bike to our lawn, dropped it in the grass with no concerns about securing it, then stomped inside, up the stairs, and shouldered my way into Cressie’s room without knocking. “What the hell, Cress?”

Harsh white light doused me, forcing a flinch. I threw my arm across my face like Dracula at high noon.

“Hey world,” Cressie said from beyond the harsh glare, “meet my little brother, Del. Del, say hi to the viewers.”

“What”—my eyes adjusted, I recognized the source of the light as some fluorescent halo fixed around her phone—“viewers?”

“We’re live on IG.”

Squinting, I saw the viewer count was at 157. Then 163. I gave her IG followers my coldest ice grill, no smile. “How long are you gonna be on?”