I lay flat on my back as bells chimed, strings swooned, and a menagerie of instruments thundered hopefully.

I was disintegrating. Dissolving.

Floating through the ceiling, through the roof, through the atmosphere, into outer space.

My atoms interwove with the universe. I was the universe.

The universe accepted me.

I felt myself breathe. My chest moving, my lungs graciously accepting and releasing air, oxygen feeding into my bloodstream.

I could breathe.

By the end of seventh period, I slithered out of the dark, unused classroom. I timed it with the bell so I could exit stealthily into the stream of students flooding out into the hallway.

It was already a bad day. It seemed like the sort of day where anything could happen. And by “anything,” I’m only referring to bad anythings—like contracting leprosy, or hitting all red lights on the drive home, or giving birth to the Antichrist. (I mean, I had the anatomy.) So, it was a bit surprising—as I collected my things from my locker, and I was on my way out the main entrance—that I was cornered by Holden.

Given the circumstances, I sort of reacted like I was being mugged.

“I have a birthmark,” said Holden. “Where is it?”

“Aauhhhhhhgh!” I said.

Holden froze. “Wait, which Wynonna is this? Wynonna-Wynonna or Ezra-Wynonna? Are you currently switched?”

I had my hand over my heart and felt it slowly recede into a rhythm that wasn’t on the verge of acute myocardial infarction.

“Ezra-Wynonna?” I said, like I wasn’t sure, myself. “Wait, you believe me?”

Holden took a deep, meditative breath.

“I don’t know what happened at lunch,” he said, “but my best friend would never have attacked Wynonna like that. Plus, everything he was yelling sounded off. Plus, you said ‘sister’ when you freaked out at theater. Plus”—Holden had to take an even deeper breath for this next part—practically cosmic in scope—like he was inhaling the energy of the universe—“Willow believes you.”

“Willow?” I said.

“Yeah. We got to talking late last night, and—”

“You got to talking late last night?”

“Yeah?”

“And where exactly did this conversation take place?”

“The dark web.”

“WHAT?”

“Oh my god, this!” said Holden, gesturing at me like a flashing billboard. “This is what I am talking about. This is so Ezra, it’s not even funny! Either this is the most elaborately staged hoax since the Voynich Manuscript, or…”

He fizzled out with a perplexed shrug.

“You believe me!” I kind of shrieked.

“I have a birthmark,” Holden repeated, not entirely convinced. “Where is it?”

“It’s on the underside of your penis, and it’s shaped like Idaho. You showed me it once when we were thirteen because you thought it might be cancerous.”

“Who’s my celebrity crush?”

“Amanda Bynes, duh.”

“I’ve told one major lie in my life that haunts me to this day—”