“You know, Henry, not all of us are creeps just looking for a lay,” Ryan counters. “It’s not like that. She’s a really nice girl.”

“Oh yeah, she is. Real nice,” Henry says. I really hate the way that Henry feels. It’s cold and sharp and thin-edged—I never notice it cutting into me until it’s already gone too deep. I try to hold on to Ryan’s feelings instead, but that might be an even worse idea.

“I think you should probably shut up now, Henry,” Ryan warns, and Henry’s ice turns hot.

The white-hot anger from Ryan isn’t jabbing out quite as much anymore, but has turned into molten lava that’s mixing with toxic acid coming off of Henry in waves now. I’m trying to breathe deeply through my nose and not pay the increasing tension any mind. But Ryan is pissed that Henry is running his mouth and Henry is pissed that … what? Ryan isn’t joking around with him? Whatever is going on, there’s a lot of anger swirling around and that is not a good environment for me to be in.

“Aw, c’mon, Ryan—”

“How ’bout you, Caleb? You going to that dance?”

My head snaps up at Ricky’s voice, which has successfully cut off whatever dumbass thing Henry was about to say. The lava still bubbles, but more quietly than before, and I gratefully play along with the change of subject.

“Uh, I don’t know,” I say. I haven’t thought about it at all—school functions haven’t really been my thing this year, for obvious reasons.

“Of course he’s going! I mean, look at this face, someone’s gonna ask this cutie out.” Ryan’s got his arm around my shoulder and his other hand smooshing my face. The lava is frothing but cooling and I allow myself a little smile at Ryan’s friendly ribbing. He’s burying his anger under the teasing and I relax a tiny bit.

The locker room breaks out into playful conversation about girls and the weekend and I take a few more deep breaths, letting the tension seep out of my chest and into my sore muscles. I beg off the guys’ invitations to go out for a victory burger—claiming some bullshit family obligation—and finally get on my way home.

I know that’s not what I’m supposed to do. I’m supposed to want to hang out with the guys, celebrate our win, hit on cheerleaders … whatever. But it’s all too exhausting. It only ever leads to a stomachache from everyone else’s feelings and my teammates looking at me weird when I get distant and quiet. I don’t know what people think about me—about the fact that I don’t really have any friends—but I try to get away from them before I can find out.