There are some people at this school who I’ve never even shared a class with, but by some awful twist of fate, Tucker and I have shared at least one class a semester. Thankfully, besides our run-in at Ms. Laverne’s office, we’ve managed to stay out of each other’s way, but him shushing me gets me riled up all over again.

“Prom court nominations will be tallied this Friday and announced on Monday morning,” sweet, sweet Millie continues. At least she can’t hear the jokers in the back of my classroom from the safety of her little studio on the other side of the building.

Mr. Higgins zaps the TV off and immediately starts droning on about business loan interest rates.

After class I follow close on Alex’s heels and make small talk about his weekend just to avoid having to face Tucker and his stupid jawline.

“It’s only fair that I get the solo at graduation, ya know?” Alex says, for what I’m guessing is not the first time.

“Huh?” I nod as we turn the corner into the choir room. “Oh, yeah. Totally.”

Kyle is lounging on the risers, with his legs crossed at the ankle, a reminder that in this room, he is a king.

Clem sits with her chin perched on her knees, laughing at something Kyle’s said. Kyle is a total golden boy. Brown hair parted down the side and even the occasional sweater vest. I’m not entirely sure which schools are even Ivy League, but he’s definitely got the look. Very white guy at a Saturday morning brunch with the tennis team. Very punchable.

“There she is!” Kyle says. “Do you prefer Pumpkin or Miss Patch?”

My stomach drops. I look to Clem, the only living human who saw my audition video.

She grimaces and holds her arms up. This morning, she even let me pin her two braids around the crown of her head for a Heidi moment, so I’m finding it a little hard to maintain my anger as I admire my work. “I was just so proud of you.”

I have two choices: One, I could dig into Clem and let her know that I feel personally violated that she would share that video with anyone. Or two, I can play it off and act like it’s no big deal. I quickly decide that option two will elicit the lesser reaction from Kyle.

“Babe, what are you even talking about?” Alex asks Kyle as he curls in next to him on the risers. Some people might say that’s a lot of PDA for two high school dudes in a tiny Texas town, but this room—the choir room—is a little microscopic queer-kid haven in a kingdom built for cis-het white good ol’ boys.