I was too tired to unpick that right then, so I just nodded. I was usually the preferred teacher for kids to come out to, probably because I directed the school musicals, though in the last couple of years a new, fluid vanguard of sexuality was emerging that challenged even my finely honed gaydar. Kyle would certainly be a case in point.

Who knows, but he once sent this video of himself jerking off to Pierre-Antoine Defreine, and he um, Pierre-Antoine, sent it to Emma, who sent it to a bunch of us, and honestly, Mom—this video? Like. I mean I’m not going to show you obviously, but it’s legendary.

She then asked me what his midnight emergency was about. Did he run out of pot or something?

I made a little disapproving cluck, which made me feel about seventy years old, and it suddenly struck me that, despite the hours we had spent together over the past while, I still knew very little about Kyle or his reputation among other students. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised to hear him referred to as a stoner, or as white trash, or even as someone over whom adolescent girls might ‘literally kill,’ though I was, on all accounts. Ashley crossed her arms, and shifted her weight—Well?

He was calling to tell me that . . . there’re others who can hear the noise. And they’re meeting a couple of Saturdays from now.

She exhaled sharply and shook her head, like an exasperated parent. She asked me if we spoke often, and I confessed that we did sometimes, after class, but then students came to me with problems all of the time. A lot of difficult issues got brought up in class, through the books we studied, and sometimes students were triggered, or a discussion would cause them to open up to me afterwards, in private. Ashley pursed her lips, frog-faced, in rebuke of my weak defence. Of course these students weren’t calling me at midnight.

Sounds like you two have a pretty special connection, she said. I affirmed this with silence. I mean he’s smart, she added.

Yes, very, I replied. And very perceptive.

She looked at me with a certain understanding. A gentle concern. I felt something thaw between us, and it suddenly seemed that the possibility of a small reopening might exist in which she and I could speak candidly again with one another, without judgement.

Being able to talk to him . . . I can’t even tell you. It’s true, what we have is very special. He’s my confidant, and I’m his. And I know from the outside it looks—

Fucked up, she said flatly.

I nodded, realizing I had misjudged, and proceeded with caution. You can see why I’m nervous, I said.

Yeah it’s uh . . . it’s pretty fucked up.