Lucas Choi was nothing if not a planner. 

Which was why he was standing in front of his new vision board (on wheels this time, like an old-school blackboard) like a detective from the 1950’s who was stuck on the case of a young, Marilyn Monroe-like widow who’d definitely murdered her husband. 

Today was the day before the first day of junior year at his new school, and checking over the well-formatted plans, schedules, and agendas he’d laid out for tomorrow was the only thing that was settling his nerves. The preparation necessary for a school year had never been this... much, before. 

His new vision board had been a gift from his aunt when he came to stay with her at the start of the summer, and it was the only thing in the attic bedroom he’d come to think of as his own. The sheets were still without any personal touches, the walls were bare, and boxes still made their precarious home in almost every unoccupied corner of his bedroom. Hell, he hadn’t even gotten his shoes out yet. 

This bedroom, however cold and unwelcoming its plain white walls and barren desk were, was too far down his list of priorities for him to even entertain thoughts of decorating it, because everything had to be just right. If everything went to plan, he’d have several people, and groups, in this room over the course of the year. 

In fact, the room was far, far from the only thing in the new life he was creating that had to be just right. There wasn’t a single thing that could be allowed to slip. He couldn’t let last year happen again. 

Hence, the flowcharts. They only gave a brief overview of the chronology of the steps he was to take, so he’d created a spreadsheet of algorithms that provided the correct reaction to every scenario he’d possibly encounter, with several being emergency-only routes that would be taken if his plan were to crack somewhere. Which, thanks to the vision board that was slowly becoming his baby, would never happen. 

“Lupita,” he said tenderly, addressing the extensive plan pinned to the rolling corkboard. He’d named it in the summer, as he did with all of his vision boards – named in alphabetical order based on their chronology, like tropical storms – silently vowing that no one besides him would ever hear her name. Lupita was an it, and she would remain hidden until he needed her.  

The printer he’d set on top of two unopened boxes whirred for the last time as it spat out the itemized agenda he’d made for the next day. Aside from not knowing his schedule – the agenda had been made adjustable based on the various possibilities he’d asked his older cousin to brief him on – he was almost totally prepared for the next nine weeks, after which he’d reconvene with Lupita and draft a plan for the rest of the semester. Pinning the agenda to the vision board with a red pin (urgent and important) was the final piece in the puzzle that had been the logistics of his new life.  

He took the low-top Nikes he’d creased (to look used – he didn’t care that it was apparently “sacrilege”) placed them close to the door of his room, and surveyed the outfit he’d carefully put together. White athletic socks, black shorts, a white shirt (uncollared and short-sleeved) and a name-brand hoodie he’d bought in his actual size, the one with a printed image of the hands from the Creation of Adam on the back. It was something he’d have imagined the son of his old basketball coach wearing instead of him.  

He turned to the mirror, gritting his teeth at his reflection. His hair was far shorter than he’d ever cut it, and he’d grieved the hairstyle he’d been trying to get, deleting the Pinterest board of K-pop mullets, before deleting any Pinterest board that contained K-pop stars in general. His older cousin’s barber had called it a two-block fade or something, but all he’d cared about that it would be short enough to fit under a beanie. He’d dyed it back to its natural black, rather than the purple peekaboo dye he’d been planning for this summer, and the plainness of the person he looked like now made his heart drop.  

He steeled himself. 

It wasn’t like this was for nothing. It was to make friends and to not have a re-run of the previous year, no matter how distant he felt from the person in the mirror in front of him. 

He’d made a new Instagram, dumped the “he/they” from his bio and replaced it with the Korean flag emoji and a link to his (new) TikTok. He’d changed the wallpaper from his phone from his favorite K-pop idol to the A$AP Rocky one. He’d wiped every single trace of the old him from his life, just short of going by his Korean name.  

(Honestly, it had been something he’d considered, but ultimately decided that it’d probably cause someone to complain of the fact that it was unpronounceable and that would draw unwanted attention to himself that “Lucas” wouldn’t.) 

He mustered up some feelings of pride at the extensiveness of his work. He was detail-oriented and organized, and that was good. The plan was completely foolproof, and it would keep him safe. 

As long as he kept people at an arm’s length. 

And, if he was completely honest, that was probably the easiest part of all this. 

He’d always been good at pushing people away. 

The first week of school had to be more perfect than perfect could be. It laid the groundwork for his new life, his reputation, everything that people would come to know as the ‘new kid.’ 

He got his schedule from the admin, and mentally patted himself on the back for creating his agenda so masterfully that the new schedule didn’t throw anything off at all. He made a note of everyone’s names in his homeroom, cracked a joke that broke the ice, and proceeded to strike up pleasant conversation about basketball with a couple of the boys in the back to ally himself with them.  

Everything was falling into place. 

He knew he was fairly conventionally attractive based on the number of times girls last year had compared him to various idols (that often barely looked like him, but he was particularly aware of their “all Asians look the same” perspective), and so let himself gauge how many girls looked at him out of the corners of their eyes. If enough girls liked him, the less likely they were to question his sexuality. 

And if he was honest, it was looking pretty good on that front. 

“Yo, Kayley!” A masculine voice yelled from somewhere behind him, “If you’re gonna be thirsty, at least be honest about it!” 

The laughter in the kid’s voice was obvious, and a firm hand gripped Lucas’ shoulder in a way that was probably supposed to be friendly. “He just got here, man!” 

‘Kayley’ turned around to glare. “Shut the fuck up, Connor. Just because you beg every girl who shows up to suck your tiny dick doesn’t mean everyone’s like that.” 

A chorus of ‘ooo’s arose from Connor’s friends, and Lucas joined them. Get his ass, Kayley.  

“That’s not what your mom said last night!” Connor shot back, his ears deceptively red. Yeah, right. 

Connor didn’t play basketball, and he wasn’t one of the guys who watched it either, so he wasn’t high on the list of potential friends. Lucas shrugged Connor’s hand from his shoulder, making pointed eye contact with one of the guys he’d been talking to earlier. 

“Is he always like this?” He asked quietly, making one of the guys chuckle.  

“Basically.” The guy shrugged. “He got pushed up in like second grade and now he thinks he’s hot shit. I’m Kyle, by the way.” 

Lucas’ eyes narrowed with understanding. “He’s actually a sophomore? That explains a lot.” 

Kyle nodded, a wry smile on his face. He changed the subject quickly, distracting from Connor entirely. “You play ball, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m the captain of the team. It’d be nice to have another Asian on there. We’ve been looking for somebody like you.” 

Lucas raised an eyebrow. They hadn’t even seen him play yet.  

Another guy joined the conversation, giving Kyle a playful glare. “Interim captain.” He turned to Lucas, “Yeah, uh, we’re trying to ratio Justin on the team. He’s started calling himself an “ethnic minority”.” 

He pointed at a wavy-haired white dude sat a couple desks away, a backwards snapback on his head as he teased the girl next to him. Definitely looks like the type of guy to do something like that. Lucas snorts, “For real?!” 

“Mhm. Yeah, so we need two Asians, so that he can’t try and rope Tanner into a weird-ass thing about discrimination.” The guy nods to Kyle, who shrugs nonchalantly. 

“Tanner?” Lucas repeats, trying not to laugh. 

“That’s what the boys call me. When I was on the team last year, Coach saw my name and must’ve assumed I was white, and was like-” he puffed out his chest, in what Lucas can only assume is an imitation of the coach. “‘I wasn’t expecting someone, uh, oriental.’ And the guys just could not stop laughing, then Vinnie said that the only way that my name could be whiter is if I was named, like, Tanner or something. And since my last name is Tan, it stuck.” 

By the end of the story, most of the guys are laughing. Lucas laughed along with them, silently glad that this basketball team seemed to be nicer to Asians then the last one had been.  

Vinnie, the guy who’d said about ratioing Justin, adds to the story. “At least Kyle didn’t have the problem of Coach failing to pronounce his name. ‘Kyle Tan’? Easy as shit. ‘Vincent Kwarteng’? Fucking nightmare, man. Imagine this old Polish guy just fucking your name up every time it comes out of his mouth – that's how it was for, like, three months until the guys just told him to call me Vinnie like they all did.” 

“You’re Ghanaian?” Lucas asks, intrigued. His uncle was from Ghana too, but he hadn’t really met anyone else from there. 

“Yeah.” Vinnie’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “How’d you know that?” 

“You and my uncle Kwesi have similar last names. Boateng, Kwarteng.” 

“Ahh,” Vinnie laughed, putting on a Ghanaian accent, “My brother!” 

Lucas dapped him up, a smile on his face. This school was already better than the last one, and the plan was working almost seamlessly, with nothing having happened that could set anything off-course. He quickly had to remind himself that it was only the first class of the first day. 

“Let’s be real, though,” Kyle interrupted, his grin showing off his blue, pink and yellow braces. If Lucas didn’t know better, he’d have said that it was the pansexual flag, but he did, so he brushed it off. The memory of someone at his old school calling multicolored braces gay lingered in his mind, and set his stomach on edge. But nobody had said anything about it, so he didn’t either. “He’s an old Polish dude from Pittsburgh. We’re lucky he even tried to get your name right. Especially with the way he fucked up Jazaiah’s.” 

Vinnie hummed enthusiastically, putting on an imitation of what Lucas could guess was the coach. “Juh-zay-ee-yuh! Juh-zay-ee-yuh!” 

A guy Lucas can only assume is Jazaiah turned to where they were, his hands open in a placating gesture. “Vinnie, please. You know it’s Jazaiah, just like Josiah. You know it is.” 

Jazaiah looked actually distressed about this. Lucas held in a laugh, wondering just how many times Vinnie’s played this exact joke. Kyle’s face contorted like he’s doing the same thing, and a guy with dreads joined the conversation, putting a hand on Vinnie’s shoulder. 

“Vinnie, man, you know he hates it. Why do you do that?” The new guy said, as if he really, really cared about Jazaiah, “Jazz is sensitive.” 

“Apollo-” Jazaiah gritted out; his eyes narrowed. 

“Jazzy,” Apollo responded, chipper.  

“Apollo...” 

“Jazzy-” 

“Holy shit, guys,” Kyle groaned, dragging his hands down his face, “Just kiss and be done. You do this every time.” 

“Y’all are so annoying.” Vinnie nodded in agreement, his voice deadpan. 

Jazaiah’s face contorted like he just ate an entire bag of Sour Patch Kids in one mouthful. Apollo winked at him, and raised his eyebrows in the way that cartoons convinced us was sexy. 

Lucas laughed along, but his insides flipped. He tried to stay calm – he'd planned for this just as much as he had everything else. Straight guys acting gay was normal. He knew how to respond, with simple laughter that quietly distances himself from the conversation, but there weren’t any gay jokes being made. The punchline was that they actually liked each other, not that they were acting gay. And Lucas doesn’t know how to take it. 

So, he does the best thing he can do. 

Ignore it. 

The basketball team laughed and Lucas laughed too. He learned the names of the guys who aren’t here and realized that he and Vinnie’s schedules match. He went to his classes with one of the only guys he knew, answering questions he was picked on for, and nothing else. He sat with them at lunch, laughing hard with the guys he’d only just met, then got back to his classes. 

The day was over far quicker that it’d begun, and before Lucas knew it, he was in the darkness of the attic room, staring up at the plain white ceiling that did nothing to calm the anxiety that had settled possessively in his chest. His heart thumped with it, and his brain spat out eventualities he had planned for, twisting them up so that he would agonize over choices he’d already made.  

He was restless, and scrolling quietly through the spreadsheet of his choices was the only thing keeping him from pulling at his too-short hair. 

He’d already reviewed the day in his journal, rating it a success, but now in the blackness that was the night, he re-examined every action, scrutinized even the tiniest of choices – how he sat, how he laughed, his intonation, even how he turned his head. 

Had he passed? 

He’d only know when he saw the results of his first day. 

The buzz that came with a notification drew his eyes back to the screen, where Kyle’s name had appeared (flanked by the Chinese flag and a couple random emojis) above a text that said, “how was your first day?” 

His fingers flew to reply, and for the first time since the summer started, a feeling of warmth filled his body. 

Maybe. Maybe it would all work out. 

(Of course it would, he and Lupita had made sure of it.)