What kind of plan? I ask. I still have a year of school. But this is going to get back to them at some point.

My brother bounces in his seat. I got it, he says. Move in with us. Mo won’t mind. We’ve got the room, and he’s going to be in Europe most of the next few months, anyhow.

Mo? I ask, and my brother actually blushes. You can’t just invite me to move into someone else’s apartment, Connor, I say. But in the back of my mind, it sounds like a damn good idea. At least until James can talk his parents into letting him come home. Maybe we can get a place together or something, then.

It’s all good, Connor says. Seriously. Although warning you, I can’t cook for shit.

I’m dizzy. It feels like I’m in a taxi going too fast down Broadway and the storefronts and buildings are spinning around too quickly to identify.

What am I doing?

I walk into the office and ask to see the school counselor. It’s going to happen anyhow, and I’d rather just face my punishment head-on and get it over with.

Since I’ve never been in trouble before, Ms. Davis calls it an unfortunate act of impulsivity “given the times.” Aside from the mandatory day of suspension, I have to clean and re-stain the wood panel and then check in with her once a week for the next month.

Then she adds that, due to the suspension, she’s going to have to notify my parents.

My chest constricts, and I take in a shaky lungful of air. In my head, Connor says, Control the situation.

But really, what does that mean when everything in the world is out of my control?

I ask her to wait until the end of the week to call them and promise to apologize to the library staff. Oddly enough, she agrees.

Talk builds through the halls in a rumble, and I hear my name whispered for days. I spend a lot of time looking over my shoulder, waiting for what happened to James to happen to me. But aside from a couple of under-the-breath comments in the hall, no one bothers me. A few kids even come up and thank me or just smile sadly and then turn away.

Mr. Solomon pulls me aside and sternly tells me I shouldn’t have chosen to write on a library wall, but then he softens and says quietly that he’s proud of my courage.

I nod, but really all I’ve done is scribbled some words onto a wall. And I’m not sure how much that means or what it could possibly change.

Surprisingly, it’s Adam Rose who spells it out for me when he pulls me aside after a spirit event.

You’ve got guts, he says. I’ll give you that.

I didn’t really do anything, I insist.

He’s quiet for a minute as the room empties out. Then he says, Do you remember my cousin Paul? He graduated last year.