A boy comes down from the red glass benches, really carefully, as if he’s scared he might trip and fall and die before he can share his story.

Before it goes unheard like mine.

Lincoln makes it safely to the microphone and tells us about his cancer diagnosis, pointing to his mother and sister in the audience and how Death-Cast will allow them the opportunity to stop resisting the inevitable if that’s truly what’s in store for him.

I don’t have it as bad as him, but I get what it’s like to want to tap out of the fight.

Then his story is over. The Death-Cast rep thanks the crowd for their time, and a security guard escorts her away. And everyone goes about their lives—their really difficult, complicated lives.

“I’m sorry,” Dalma says.

“For what?”

“That your name didn’t get called.”

I never outright said how badly I wanted this, but my best friend gets me.

“It’s all good,” I lie.

I look at the digital hourglasses on the jumbotrons, watching sand, aka tiny black blocks, fill the bottom. Until a tall guy—I bet he’s my age; I’ve got a good eye for this—passes by and breaks my focus. And I mean really breaks my focus because dude is beautiful; I can’t help but watch him as he takes a seat at the far corner of the glass bench, looking up at the hourglasses as if they’re stars.

I want to know his story as much as I wanted to tell mine.

My heart is going for it; it’s wild how being attracted to someone can feel so exciting and dangerous, like he can be everything good and bad for me.

I can’t tell the color of his eyes, but man, I want to know.

He’s pale, but he could also be pretty white-passing like me.

I think we’re the same height if you ignore his dark floppy hair or the classic Timbs giving him a mini boost.

He’s undeniably muscular with his broad shoulders, thick neck, the kind of arms that guarantee him the win in any arm-wrestling match, and pecs that must be suffocating inside his fitted black V-neck.

“Earth to Orion,” Dalma says, snapping her fingers. “What are you— Oh.”

“Yeah. I bet he’s a model.”

“You swear everyone cute is a model.”

“And it’s a crime to society every time I’m wrong.”