Oh, Michael, he says softly. I adore you, but…

His eyes are sad and the “but” hangs in the air. I prepare myself for the end of our friendship.

Sorry, I say, and turn to leave, Never mind.

Michael, James calls out, stopping me where I stand. You read that article. And Steven’s sick, and I just don’t. Anymore. I…can’t.

I turn back.

Tiny pieces of James’s life away from Becky and I jam into place.

You and Steven? I ask, my heart suddenly beating too hard. Holy shit, you aren’t…

James leans back against the side of a phone booth and tries to smile. That smile. Ironic. And now I can see that this smile is something he keeps in his pocket and pulls out for effect.

No, he says, grin fading. No, we’re not. We didn’t. But there was one night. A party. We were interrupted. The power went out, and Rob needed to get into my room to reset the breaker.

I’m sure there’s a metaphor somewhere in there, he says, offering me an attempt at a joke.

I exhale, relieved when I didn’t even know that I should have been worried. James is okay. Of course he is.

But before I can question him more, he says, I’m not as brave as you think. Not anymore, Michael. Not at all. To come so close…

And then he shakes his head and walks away.

Hungover.

My dad blares the Yankees, swearing when Winfield strikes out.

I roll over, but my stomach stays still. Start to sit up. Lick my lips.

Remember my stupidity.

James’s response.

His secrets.

The shift of reality.

Leaving without going back to the club.

The taste of guilt on my lips.

I sit in bed, homework looming.

I should call James. I should call Connor. Maybe Becky can tell me what to do. How to feel.

Then my mother yells down the hall that James is here, and I’m sure he’s come to end our friendship. I have no idea what I was thinking when I kissed him. No idea what I’ve changed. If you move one grain of sand, then the world will never be the same.

Crap. That sounds like James.

But no. He comes into my room where he’s spent so much time, only now it feels awkward, both of us unsettled.

He tells me that after I left, he went back to the club. Back to talk to Gabriel. Apologized.

He hands me a folded slip of paper. Seven digits.

The holy grail of Gabriel’s pager number.

Call him, James says. He thinks he upset you.

The paper is hot in my hand. Of course Gabriel would give it to James. No one ever denies him anything.

I’m sorry, I say again.

I’m not sure what I feel worse about. My impulsive and ridiculous kiss? For not sensing that my best friend is going through stuff I know nothing about?

Or maybe for not even considering that something as ugly as this plague could ever touch James who is young and healthy and beautiful?