Upbeat as always, Marcos doesn’t mind that most of his friends left Texas for out-of-state colleges or that people whisper about him. All he wants is to graduate and be accepted into a college close to me. It’s the only thing making our distance bearable. He asked me to be his prom date in the spring, and I’m not ashamed to say I booked my flight instantly. How could I pass up the opportunity when his homecoming picture stirred up so much FOMO? I’ve spent many lonely nights with pics of Marcos in his homecoming suit—a candy-red blazer, black slacks, and loafers with no socks. The way his surf-wave hair rose up and then tumbled down his forehead is seared into my corneas. It was such a nuclear explosion of handsomeness, even Ario messaged me: DAMN.

We live in wildly different places, but Ario is aggressively trying to get a double date going for us and his new boyfriend, Calvin (who is literally a Chicago cop dating a college freshman, but whatever, no judgment). Weirdly, I’m not opposed to this plan—if it ever materializes. The memory of dating Ario is like an echo of an echo. On my dresser, his recorder hangs off the lid of Ricky Hannigan’s urn. I kiss two fingers to the urn (my morning ritual) and pull on a tank top and jogger sweats. My gold glitter nail polish is chipping; I need a touch-up after the holiday.

Back on the bed, Marcos spreads out like a snow angel. “A new Nightlight BB’s just dropped!” he yelps, already queuing the video on his phone. Agitation briefly sweeps into my chest as I check my notifications: nothing yet from Mom regarding my Merry Christmas text, but indeed—Alan and Vance have added a new episode.

I miss everyone being in one place.

“Who’s their guest?” I ask, cannonballing back to bed, into the warm nook of Marcos’s arm.

“Jack,” he says, and we both “Aw.”

Alan and Vance both live in Virginia within ten minutes of each other. Following our return, Alan’s parents relocated closer to Vance’s family to help ease their son’s depression. It worked wonders—both boys are inseparable; they’re freshmen at the same high school, and last month, they launched a viral web series called Nightlight BB’s where they perform in drag as their hyper-confident alter egos, Beatriz (Vance) and Belinda (Alan). The wigs are cheap, but their makeup is impeccable.

“Jack Singer,” Vance says, flipping through notecards with red satin gloves. Between the queens, Jack straddles a bar stool in Vance’s family’s posh basement den. “You’ve got the name of a man who would pick up Lana Del Rey in a convertible outside 7/11 before driving into the desert.”