Alex nods and it’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to an admission from him that he also thinks Kyle is a little bit awful. “Kyle can be . . . eager,” he says. “You have to know, though, that he didn’t post that video for it to get the kind of attention it did. Accidents like that happen all the time on the internet. Remember that time Jenna Martinez accidentally posted a picture of a wart on her you-know-what on Instagram? People eventually got over it.” He sighs. “Kyle was just . . . he was so excited when you said you were auditioning and . . . you know, he would kill me for saying this, but he always talks about what great friends you two were through elementary and middle school.”

“It doesn’t matter what his intention was, Alex.” My voice cuts, and I hate talking to Alex like this, but I also want it to sting enough so that somehow Kyle will feel it too.

For me and Kyle, history will always be divided into two distinctive chunks of time. BWL = before weight loss and AWL = after weight loss. And Alex isn’t wrong. If you can even imagine it, Kyle and I were actual, genuine friends. But after he lost the weight, I couldn’t handle the way he talked about his former fat self with hate and disgust. It felt like he wasn’t only talking about himself. He was talking about me. Then, before I knew it, his whole world was Alex and the end of our friendship came all too naturally.

Being fat is hard enough without adding gay guy to the equation. The only gay guys anyone fawns over online are ripped with like twelve-pack abs or whatever. I know it’s plenty difficult for other people too, but when you’re straight and big, everyone is fine with you as long as you can be the person who lifts heavy stuff or fixes things or protects people. But when you’re gay, if you want to be the object of anyone’s desire, you better have washboard abs and a phone full of thirst traps. So in a very small way, I feel for Kyle, but mostly being near him hurts.

“Good morning, future adults. Welcome back, Mr. Brewer,” says Mr. Higgins as he settles into his office chair and props his feet up on his desk before turning on the TV. “It’s that time,” he says.

Everyone likes to pretend they don’t give a shit about things like prom court, but I can sense the electric energy in the air as that familiar intro plays on the TV.

Millie sits at her desk with Miranda Garcia, student body president, and Kyle Meeks, her vice president.

“Hello, CCHS student body. I’m here live in-studio with two very special guests,” Millie says with a giggle.

Kyle and Miranda awkwardly wave, the both of them not sure exactly where to look.