My despair turns into a boiling hot anger the longer the day progresses. It simmers and sifts inside me until I feel like I’m about to explode. In English class, I poke a hole through my notebook from pressing down on the paper too hard as I scribble. Mr. Jensen looks at me with a mixture of pity and annoyance. All I can think is, of course he knows too. Everybody knows. And if they’re not being blatantly homophobic, they’re looking at me with this pity, like I’m a kicked puppy. Like they can’t do something to help me.

By the end of the day, I am a mixture of emotions: relief that the day is finally over, and anger at having experienced it at all. When I get to my locker, I’m in a rush to leave this oppressive place behind. Sure, home isn’t exactly a safe haven, but at least Priti is there and she has my back.

As I’m stuffing books into my locker, I see Chyna and Flávia out of the corner of my eye. Chyna is waving her hands around in wild gestures as she speaks to the rest of her posse. Flávia has her back against a bunch of lockers, her eyes cast down low. Her expression is unreadable. But the sight of her, instead of filling me with the jittery excitement of a crush, reignites my simmering anger.

I guess Flávia can sense me too, because after a moment she looks up and catches my eye. All I can think of is the last time we were together—at the party on her couch. How she smelled. How she leaned forward. How I almost let her kiss me.

I turn away and slam my locker door shut, trying to bottle up the anger and despair battling inside me. Trying to ignore Flávia’s gaze boring through me.

“Nishat Ahsan?” It’s Ms. Grenham—the school guidance counselor and health teacher. She ushers me over from the end of the hallway with a frown on her lips.

“Um, yes. That’s me.” There’s a waver in my voice that I try to bite down.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Um, sure,” I say, even though the last thing I want to do is talk to Ms. Grenham about anything. And of course I have a feeling that I already know what it’s about.

“Please, follow me.”

She leads me into her office around the corner, where we take seats opposite each other with her cluttered desk between us.

I try to give her my best smile, hoping that will deter whatever conversation is about to come, but she just considers me with a frown on her face, like I’m a problem she can’t quite solve.