I heard you say ‘I can’t come out.’

I forced a chuckle, but I couldn’t tell if she was being serious. I’ve always thought you were a little dyke-y, she said.

That’s not funny, I replied, fixing her with a look.

Is it Mr. Gaddis?

What? No. God no.

I can’t be seen with you out of school, she said, parroting me.

She had been listening forensically. I really didn’t see any other way out of this. I tried to listen for any movement upstairs, or on the stairs. The last thing I needed was Paul overhearing us.

You have to promise you won’t tell anyone.

She cocked her head to the side. Why would I make that promise? she asked.

Because I could lose my job.

Jesus Christ, she muttered. So it is a teacher.

I held the back of my chair and bowed my head. It’s not an affair, I said, and it’s not a teacher.

What, a student? she asked, with a snicker. The smile suddenly dropped from her face. Oh my god it is.

You have to promise me that you’ll keep this between us.

She put her glass of water down hard on the table. What the actual hell are you telling me? she asked.

There’s nothing inappropriate happening between us.

Oh my god you’re having an affair with a student, she said, her mouth dropping open.

No, I’m not.

I bet I can guess who it is.

Ash, this is not a joke.

She crossed her arms, smirking. Is it Luke? she asked.

I lowered my voice to a vicious whisper—I need you to shut up and listen to me, all right? This could destroy me. I need you to promise I can trust you with this. Please.

She fixed me with a stare, like a genie waiting for my third and final calamitous wish. Fine, she said.

Kyle Francis can hear the hum.

Her eyes darted across my face, the hint of any smile now gone. Kyle Francis? she asked.

I told her how he came to me unprompted, how it caused him the same symptoms, how he’d been in a dark place, and had no one to talk to, and how I was worried about him, so I gave him my number.

I know a few girls who would literally kill you for those digits.

What?

Even though he’s, like, a stoner and looks vaguely unwell.

Ash—

And a bit white trash.

Enough.

And is maybe a homo, though who knows.

What?

Can you imagine, a sensitive fag who plays basketball, no wonder everyone’s obsessed with him.

Don’t—don’t use that word.

It’s fine, I’m one too, I can say it.

You can say you’re queer, but don’t use—

No I’m a fag, I’m a gay man, Mom, that’s literally my sexuality.