The fear lab has also changed. There’s no paper, just a note from the counseling office with their hours on it and a reminder that anyone caught defacing school property will be suspended.

Now there’s no chance for people to share their fears. The walls have been paneled over as if that can erase history. Erase fear.

As if that’s fucking possible.

Something inside me snaps. I walk into the library and borrow a marker from the cup on the reference desk.

And on the wall, I write:

My name is Michael Bartolomeo and I’m scared.

Scared I’m never going to be able to look anyone in the eye and admit to being gay.

Scared I’m never going to feel safe showing someone I love them in public.

Scared I’m going to die.

Scared they’re all going to convince me to stay silent.

Scared I’m going to let them.

Silence is not the answer.

All day, I wait:

• Wait to be called to the office

• Wait to be kicked out of school

• Wait to feel sorry for what I’ve done, but that doesn’t happen

My brother came out loudly, high as a kite on the stage of our high school.

I’m not sure if my words are quieter or if I want them to be.

I feel light. Unburdened. Like I’ve finally done something. Or am starting to.

Becky pulls me into a janitor’s closet that’s most commonly used for making out. It smells like bleach and Windex and is probably the least romantic place in the world.

Are you okay? she asks, leaning against a rack of cleaning supplies and looking me up and down.

I’m fine, Becks. Really, I’m good.

So, you’re really out now, she says.

Yeah, I guess so.

To the whole school.

Yup.

And you’re okay with that?

I wait for the usual knot in my stomach to form, but it doesn’t. I am, I say. I mean, I’m sure I’m going to hear about it, but yes, I’m okay with it.

She throws her arms around me and pulls me tight. I’m so, so proud of you, she says. And James will be too. I’m sure of it.

Then, as we part, she takes a roll of paper towel and clubs me lightly over the head with it. We’ll talk later about you defacing the library, she says with a smirk. And instead of writing on the wall, you could have just written for the paper and given me an exclusive, you know.

I skip my next two classes and corner my brother at work.

Connor stares at me, unblinking. It isn’t like I need him to approve, but I thought I should give him a heads-up before the family shit hits the fan.

He leans back in the chair in his boss’s office and crosses his arms. I can almost see the wheels spinning in his head.

Okay, he says. Yeah, okay. Control the situation. Don’t make the same mistake I made, not that I made a mistake, but you know what I’m saying. Don’t give Dad the upper hand. Be ready for the explosion. Have a plan.