I need about a million things right now: I need sanctuary, I need peace, I need freedom, and I need to spill this gossip to Colleen.

I race up the stairs to my bedroom and quietly close the door. I pull out my phone, and it feels like she’s picked up before I can even dial.

“Hey hey, what’s up,” she says from atop her bike. I can see an enormous helmet on her head and scenery rushing past her.

“Where the fuck are you going? Okay, I’m freaking out, Conner—”

“Conner?!”

“Conner! He’s fucking here in my house right now! I’m having dinner with him—”

“What!” she shrieks. “That is so hot—”

“—And his dad who is dating my mom—”

“You are not serious! No! Oh my god, who have you told? I’m texting the group chat.”

“No!” I hiss, looking toward my door to make sure no one is sneaking up on me. “No one. You can’t tell anyone. I don’t think he’s out yet.”

“He’s not out?! You gnawed each other’s faces at a gay bar!”

“You’re fucking telling me, Colleen. I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know—”

There’s a knock on my door. I bolt upright, cover my mouth with my hand.

“I’ll call you back, Colleen,” I say. “Don’t. Tell. Anyone.”

I hang up, try to take a deep, calming breath, and open the door.

It’s Conner. My breath catches again.

“Uh,” I say.

“Hi,” Conner says.

Even the way he speaks is too obscenely beautiful. Like he’s blowing out flowers. It’s hard not to swoon.

“Sorry,” I say, “This is just—”

“Can I come in?”

Who am I to say no?

I awkwardly gesture with my hands, welcoming him in. He steps into my room. I’m suddenly embarrassed. I see a tiny pile of dirty underwear in the corner. I hurry over and try to kick them under my bed.

Conner is looking all around, taking in the sight of my walls.

“You like cigarettes after sex?” He says.

“What?”

He points to the poster above my bed. “The band. Cigarettes After Sex.”

“Oh,” I say. “Yeah. I like their songs a lot.”

“Huh. Haven’t listened. Weird name for a band.”

“Yeah. Weirdest thing I can think of.”

Conner keeps scanning my room, kind of jumps when he sees my headless outfit mannequin, seems to linger over my record player and loose drawer of fabric scraps.

“This is a pretty…unique set up,” he says.

“Conner. Are you just here to give wrestling commentary on my room set-up?”

He laughs.

“I like that about you. You’re funny.”

Another red-hot iron in my belly. I can’t stop looking at his perfect chin.

“What are we talking about here?” I ask.

Conner takes a long pause, like he isn’t sure what to say.

“I don’t know. I just wanted to come clear things up. This situation is—”

“Insane.”

“For sure.” He pauses. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

I nod quietly. “Me neither.”

“But, you know—that was just an experiment.” Conner looks down at my bed. He can definitely see my underwear poking out from underneath.

“Experiment?” I say.

“I mean…” Again, he pauses. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention our little…”

“Make-out session?”

“Sure. That. As you can tell, I’m not really out to my dad. I mean—” He picks up my old piggy bank, still filled with loose pennies. “I don’t even know if I’m like gay, or like bisexual, or something else.”

There it is. The other shoe dropping. A heavy iron cloak of sadness falls over me. I feel stupid, gullible.

“I get it,” I say. “ It was all just an experiment. It meant nothing.”

“I didn’t say that.”

We stare at each other for too long. I don’t know what to say. All I know is that I don’t want to be the one who gets thrown aside as soon as Conner figures out who he is. No matter how real that kiss at the club felt.

“Well,” I say, “I won’t say anything. If you don’t say anything about my mom and your dad.”

“Like…in what way?”

“What do you think?” I feel spiteful, in the mood to punish him. Maybe it’s not his fault, but after all this searching, all this idle dreaming, to have my chances crushed with this too-good-looking new kid makes me feel broken. “I do theater stuff. Everybody at school loves my mom. If they knew she was dating the asshole wrestling coach—”

“Asshole? My dad is not—”

“Aggressive, whatever word you want to use,” I say. “But if they found out, it would ruin her. And me, for that matter. I have to protect her.”

Conner eyes me like I’m not making sense, like I’m not the one sane person in this home tonight.

“Okay,” Conner says. “You don’t tell, I won’t tell.”

“Mutually assured destruction.”

“What?”

“Forget it.”

Conner holds out his hand. It takes me a second to realize he wants to shake.

“Ah. That’s how we’re doing things,” I say. I give him my hand.

As soon as my fingers brush his, I feel that same charge I felt in the club. That magic, drunk charge.

Conner pulls away. “It’s a deal,” he says. My hand goes numb.