And not like he’s called me.

So instead, I play my guitar. I hang out on the fire escape and people-watch. I stare at the clock until the nights end.

I meet up with Becky and fill her in on my talk with James. When I’m done talking, she fumbles in her bag and hands me a roll of quarters.

What are these for?

She grabs my arm and says, Video arcade.

This always helps when I’m hurt or pissed off, she says and shoots another centipede.

Becky’s making minimum, $3.35 an hour, so we’re quickly running through three hours of her scooping ice cream at work.

But then it’s my turn, and I realize that over the din of the machines and the clanking of the coins and the constant talking, you can’t hear the sirens outside, and I can’t really hold onto thoughts of losing Gabriel or missing James, and my brain is only focused on the roller ball and blasting this stupid bug into oblivion.

We stop at the door of Howard Johnson’s.

I don’t know if I want to go in without James here, Becky says. Is that strange?

No, I was just thinking the same thing.

We grab slices of pizza at the Ray’s down the block instead, but one bite is all I can handle.

I don’t know what to do, I admit. I can’t even go to The Echo. Plus, I feel like I’m stuck lying to my parents until I move out or die.

I’ve been thinking about that, she says. I told my mom last night that if she doesn’t clean up, I’m going to leave and move in with Andy’s family or something. I was worried I couldn’t tell his parents anything with his dad being a cop and all, but I talked to his mom and they’re going to try to get mine some help. Anyhow, I think that’s maybe an option. Of course, I’d rather my mom clean her life up… Then I thought we could make a pact, and you could talk to your parents too. I mean, if you were going to anyhow.

Reasons to come out to my parents:

• Solidarity with Becky

• Be true to myself

• Make Connor feel like he isn’t alone

• Piss off my dad

• …

Good that can come from it:

• Hell if I know

Senior year begins, and James still isn’t back.

Instead, he calls to tell me his mother wants him to stay in Connecticut where it’s “safer.” His father, back from a photo shoot in Australia to, James says, “make sure I have my head screwed on correctly,” wants him to come to some sort of awards ceremony in DC, hosted by President Reagan.

Maybe it’s because I know James so well. Or maybe it’s because his anger is so close to the surface, but even on the phone, I can hear it welling up inside him and threatening to spill over. The acid in his voice as he gave a speech in Blood Makes Noise about having to stay silent at home rather than argue about the mocking government nonresponse to AIDS in order to keep the peace.