He flinches at my mere touch, and his jaw tightens. We both pretend he didn’t flinch, and I didn’t notice. He works hard to seem cool. “I think there’s a lot this school doesn’t know.” Gordo has told him what he thinks about me—it’s clear as day. Why did I say anything to Ma Elena? He steps back—time to put me in my place.

His eyes glitter. “So Gordo says you’ve been holding out.” I can hardly breathe. Is he going to— “You have a girlfriend you’ve been hiding.” His smile returns, a Cheshire cat grin getting wider. He thinks he’s caught me and is enjoying himself immensely.

“She’s not hiding. She’s back home. Where I wish I was.” My throat catches on that.

Oh my god, I just went all girlfriend-in-Canada. How the hell am I, the queerest of my class, suddenly an effin’ closet case? I came all this way to show Chaz how it’s done, and now I’m Chazzing myself. I hate the ’80s.

He’s not done. “Does Connecticut Babe have a name?”

“Bianca? Yeah, obvi.”

Not buying it. “Like Madonna? No last name?” He’s so proud of himself.

“Bianca del Rio.” I can’t help it. I giggle, pretty sure he could never imagine RuPaul’s Drag Race.

“Pretty name. Can I see her?”

“Yeah, move to New Haven.” I’ve never pegged a specific place in Connecticut before, so this may be a bad call, especially since I’ve never been there. Here’s hoping he hasn’t either.

“A picture, doofus. Show me a picture.” His needling has taken on more of an edge like he’s tired of it taking so long for me to buckle.

I look down at my gym shorts. The shorts in the ’80s are phenomenal: they go up over the waist and they are outlined in white piping, and stop way up the thigh, so they show off my legs and my butt. Mine are red with yellow trim, and I’m wearing them with a Devo tank in yellow with a red logo. I think I look really cute. What I do not look like is someone carrying a wallet. And I’m super annoyed that he thinks he can demand anything of me.

“Um, where exactly do you think I’m stashing it?” His eyes widen. I should so not follow my impulses here. I shouldn’t, but I do. “Or are you offering to help me look?”

He shoves me, one hand right in the chest, and stalks off without a retort. The blow was surprisingly forceful, and my heart pounds.

What the hell?

That is more than enough rec for me, and I grab my bag. Decorating committee doesn’t meet for another half hour or so, but I’m not staying for another inning.