Chaz is still waiting, eyes expectant but showing the first signs of worry that his plan may not be a good idea. I think of Ernie, who went from “Gale warning” to Prom Council to a guy who bailed on his friends to a guy who saved the day in the end. I consider how Ernie had once made peace with being on the fringe of school life and how it would now feel to be at the center of Chaz’s. Even as much as I miss Cheng and Nix and (real) Mom and my own life, I know my answer.

“It’s perfect. I’ll do it.”

Take on Me

Take on Me

This week is going to leave me with a permanent fear of heights. The second most scared I have ever been is right now, trying to pull myself up into the window of the room I shared with Ernie. I couldn’t just walk into the building like a normal human being because today, of all days, Buckman is helping the dean replace the carpet in the lobby. Ernie’s room is on the first floor, actually making it the second story from ground level because it’s on the side away from the hill. I tried going through the basement door at the other end, but it was locked from the outside. (Seriously? Why now?) Climbing was my only choice.

I started on Chaz’s shoulders, trying not to fall, him lifting my feet by the soles to get me high enough to push up the lower windowpane. Like Cirque du Soleil for profusely sweating gay boys of color. But now, to pull myself in means leaving the safety of Chaz’s hands and, for the second time in twenty-four hours, I imagine falling.

I practically hurl myself through the window in fear, executing a tuck and roll that Simone Biles would be proud of. (Okay, she’d be more like girl, please, but, seriously, I took expressive movement for gym, so go me.)

For a moment, I’m a little nostalgic. I mean, the posters are still crazy, and there’s a towel on the floor, but it’s a space I shared with Ernie, who saved my life, during a week that has changed me forever. But there’s no time to linger; carefully, very carefully, I grab the rolled-up fractal print and turn back to the window. Except Chaz is gone.

It’s basement or bust, so I do my best gazelle impression and leap down the hallway and into the stairwell, grateful everyone else is in class—no sign of Buckman or the dean as I speed across the basement and out the door. I’m giggling maniacally now as I run to where I see Chaz hiding behind a tree. He apologizes for bailing—he saw the dean and panicked—as I hand off the artwork, but my work is not done.