“That’s why I came to Steerfield. Or, I guess, that’s why I was sent to Steerfield. My mom, she …” I take a breath. “She thought that it’d straighten me out or whatever. Not in the sexuality sense, though it’d be pretty funny if she sent me to an all-boys school to try and make me cishet.”

Wyatt and I both laugh uncomfortably.

“The stolen car … that was all a misunderstanding. I was trying to get a friend home. She was drunk and didn’t want to leave her car, so I drove her.”

“But you don’t have a license.”

“Sure don’t! The cops pulled me over, didn’t like the lip that I gave them. And since my friend was passed out in the front seat, it was easy to misinterpret the situation. I had to do some community service to work that one off.”

“Jesus, you’re a little lawbreaker.” Wyatt grins, laughing.

“I just remember feeling so alone in that house. Especially after my surgery, when Mom went back to work. She tried to be there for me, but there were days after the recovery at home started that I woke up all alone, and I was so scared.” I remember being so lonely, so scared, my chest and body hurting so much. “All I wanted was my mom. It just sucked, you know? And I know it wasn’t fair to take it out on her, I know that she tried her best, but …”

“Sometimes that’s not enough.”

I don’t say anything to him.

“But you said she tried her best, though?”

“Any attention was good attention. Then, once I recovered, I went back to being ignored by my family. I tried to make it so I was impossible to ignore—and then they shipped me across the country just so they wouldn’t have to deal with me. How fucked up is that?”

I feel Wyatt’s hand on the small of my back, rubbing circles there. It reminds me of when I was little, when Mom would scratch my back when her nails were long. I always fell asleep on Dad’s side of the bed, so he’d go to the couch.

“I’m sorry.” I wipe my eyes with the hoodie sleeve. “For unloading all of that onto you.”

Wyatt stays silent.

“I thought I got all this shit out in therapy, but I guess not.”

“Neil.” He says my name softly, like a prayer. “I hope you know that I like you a lot.”

What’s happening?

“And that being here with you the last few days, well … I’m just glad that we’re friends now.”

Oh. Friends.

“And I’m glad that you invited me on this trip. Even if your plan is totally batshit.”

“Yeah. I’m glad we’re friends too.”

“Sorry, I’m, uh … not that great with words and feelings and stuff, I guess.”

“Don’t you want to be a singer?” I tease.