This has a ring of the familiar to it. Cheng always says I push people too far. When I convinced the students to walk out of class for a climate change protest our freshman year (the cafeteria refused to switch to compostable materials), the admin team were already huffy about it. I guess the fact I made Kim Okemwa call her mom (who’s a reporter for Channel 7) was a bit extra, even for me. In the end, the protest was on all the news channels, and the cafeteria switched to only recycled or biodegradable utensils, and I was very happy. But Kim got in trouble for inviting a camera crew without permission, and she never again listened to any of my ideas.

“So … leave him alone? That’s what you mean.”

She sighs. “That’s what he means. He actually said, ‘Tell him to stop sending me notes.’ ” She lights a new cigarette and takes a drag. “I don’t know that I’d say that. It might be good for him to see the world has more than Gordo in it. Maybe he can become the person he’s afraid to be.”

“Exactly.” That’s all I’m trying to do. I mean, it’s almost charity.

“But I can’t help you—he needs me to let him be who he is right this moment. You do what you think you should, but be careful, okay? Like, totally tiptoe around this. You don’t want the other guys to get wind of it because they can be assholes. Not to mention he could get kicked out. And his parents—I can only imagine what they’d do.”

Whoa. I hear her, but she’s really taking the fun out of this for me.

“I didn’t ask you to break curfew for nothing. Chaz is my closest friend, and I need him to be safe.”

“How about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you safe?” Befriending the school closet case, sneaking out after curfew, smoking (a prohibition meriting all capital letters in the student handbook)—I find myself wondering how Leeza herself has lasted this long.

She steps away, and even in the dark, I know she’s looking at me. “Why wouldn’t I be? Nobody cares what I do.” Her voice sounds tighter as if she’s speaking through clenched teeth.

“I just meant—you’re not exactly a rule follower yourself.”

She can’t catch her breath. “What did you see?” Before I can figure that out, she speaks more softly. “Did someone say something?”

What? Now I’m curious. “About …”

She hesitates. Maybe because she sees me as an ally, or maybe because I’m out to her and straight people always use that as permission to discuss their sex lives, Leeza answers with a detail I so did not expect. “About Buckman.”

“That old creeper?”

“He’s twenty-six!”