Carrie and I didn't have many classes together, so I didn't have a chance to talk to her again until lunch. Though upon arrival, I couldn't speak openly, because I suddenly found myself with a dozen new friends, all eager to learn about the accident. They wanted the story firsthand.

To get them off my back, I told the most basic version of the story, omitting Clay completely. They weren't too pleased by the revelation that I had no actual memory of the accident itself. All my knowledge came secondhand thanks to Clay and the hospital staff.

The group quickly dispersed, grumbling disappointment, leaving only my usual lunch crew. Makenzie sidled up to Dan, feeding him French fries. He bit off half, then she popped the rest into her own mouth. It was gross to watch, but I'd totally do something like that with Clay.

"So what's the real story?" Dan asked, hanging an arm around Makenzie's shoulders. She kissed his cheek. I envied their ability to be so carefree about their feelings.

"I really don't remember it," I said.

"Yeah, but there's more you didn't tell the lemmings." He raised a brow, quirking the corner of his lips. "Am I wrong?"

I shared a look with Carrie. She shrugged, tossing a sideways glance at them to suggest I tell them.

"We'd never tell anyone, if it's, like, a secret," Makenzie said. She reached over to grip my hand. I was a little grossed out because she had licked those fingers a moment ago. Though they were dry, it still made my skin crawl. I tried not to show my discomfort, reminding myself that she was being supportive.

I pulled my hand away, putting it under the table, trying to discreetly wipe my hand against my pants so as not to insult her. "I have a boyfriend."

Makenzie's face lit up. "That's great, Em."

"Since when?" Dan asked. "It's not that douchebag who dropped you last year, is it?"

I glared at Carrie. Had she told them about my lapse in judgement with Alfie, too? Catching the meaning of my scowl, she said, "I didn't tell them."

"Wait!" Dan held up a hand, giving me a look of disappointment. "You're seriously seeing that asshole again?"

"I'm not seeing him. We slept together. But that was it. He and I are done. For good this time."

"So who's the new guy?" Makenzie asked, tucking a lock of her red hair behind her ear before propping her arm up to rest her chin in her hand.

"He's still kind of in the closet. So I can't say much about him."

"Is it that Clay guy?" Dan asked, taking over his own feeding duties.

"What makes you ask that?"

Dan shrugged, dipping a fry in ketchup. I noticed a spot of green paint on his wrist, partially obscured by his bracelets. He must've missed it while cleaning up after art class. He had a habit of doing that, so wrapped up in his work that he didn't notice all the spots and streaks of paint splattered across his skin and sometimes his clothes. Then, after class, he was in such a rush to get to lunch that he rarely got it all off. The day they did charcoal drawings, he completely forgot to wash up and showed up to lunch with black fingertips. I had to grab the sandwich out of his hand so he didn't get a mouthful of charcoal stained bread. "He's like the only thing you ever talk about anymore."

I confirmed his speculation. Only because I knew neither he nor Makenzie would ever say anything. Ever since the Patrick incident, I'd whittled down my friend group to people I could trust without question, which left only the three of them.

"I'm so happy for you, Em," Makenzie said. "He's really hot."

I blushed a little. "Yeah. He is."

"Well, you got a picture? Let's see him." Dan raised his hand over the table, curling his fingers in toward himself, beckoning me to show him. His painted fingernails kind of annoyed me. Not because I would ever be mad at someone expressing themselves in whatever ways they were comfortable with, but because no one made it a big deal. Because he was obviously straight. If I did that, people would point and say, "Look at the gay boy doing gay things. Isn't he so gay?" Okay, maybe they'd be more clever than that, but not by very much.

I shimmied my phone from my pocket and went into my photos app to find the best picture I had of Clay. I settled on the picture we took downtown in front of the floral mural he loved so much. Clay's sweet smile brought one to my face every time I looked at it.

I handed my phone over, and Dan whistled. "I get it. He's a good-looking dude."

"You did not just say that." I reached over to take my phone back, locking it.

"What? A straight man can't admire the obvious hunkiness of his gay friend's boyfriend now? Is that where we are as a society? Because I don't know if I wanna live in that dystopian hellscape."

"Shut up," I said with a laugh. Carrie and Makenzie were also snickering at him.

Dan held his arms out toward me. "Kiss and make up?"

I rolled my eyes, resulting in Dan blowing an exaggerated kiss across the table.

"I love you," I said.

"Okay, well, now you're going to make me have to say something macho like 'that dude better not hurt you because I'll kick his ass.' But I can't say that because I'm pretty sure he could beat me up without breaking a sweat. I mean, did you see the biceps on that sexy man? They're like cantaloupes. I'm gonna have to start lifting like crazy." Dan shook his head. "Just to defend your honor. How could you do this to me, man? You couldn't find yourself a nice twink?"

"Believe it or not, whether you can beat a guy up is not a stipulation I consider when looking for a boyfriend."

Dan gave a dramatic scoff, shaking his head. "Jeez, could you be any more selfish?" he asked in his best Chandler Bing impression.

Makenzie squeezed one of Dan's arms. She looked over at me and Carrie. "Can you turn a pencil into a cantaloupe?"

Dan clutched his chest. "That hurts, babe."

We all laughed as Dan feigned being horribly offended, going off on a highly sarcastic rant about the plight of the straight man in America today. "Ain't nobody giving us no respect no more."

__________

____

When classes ended for the day, I went to my locker to wait for Carrie so she could drive me home. I opened the door and stared inside to avoid being spotted by any passerby.

"What are you doing?" Carrie asked, her voice full of disbelief. I turned to see her giving me a dubious stare.

"Hiding," I said.

"You're doing a piss-poor job." Carrie dialed in her combination, opening her locker. "This will eventually blow over. Soon someone will turn up pregnant or get into a fight in the cafeteria. You'll be old news in no time."

"I hope so."

Carrie rubbed my shoulder before loading her books into her backpack.

"Hey," I said. "I wanted to show you something earlier, but I forgot when Kenny showed up. And it's just been so hectic ever since."

"What?"

"Look." I raised my injured arm and pointed to where Clay wrote on the cast, along with a tiny lopsided heart drawn in red Sharpie. "Is that not adorable?"

Carrie looked up at me with an arched brow. "Who wrote 'CALM?' Is that some kind of self-help bullshit from Mrs. Abbott? I swear to God, she thinks that minoring in psychology twenty years ago somehow gives her the credentials to psychoanalyze us." Carrie shook her head. "Like stick to geometry, lady. If you wanted to give advice, you should've become a guidance counselor."

I rolled my eyes. "It's not 'calm.' And it wasn't Mrs. Abbott. Those are Clay's initials. Clay Alexander Lennox-Miller." I pointed to each letter as I said the name.

Carrie harrumphed. "That seems extremely ironic, given all the disquietude he's caused you since you met him."

"Disquietude?" It was my turn to raise a questioning brow.

"It means to be in a state of anxiety. I have tried hard as hell to work that one into a sentence today."

I chuckled, leaning my head against the cold metal of the lockers, clutching the strap of my messenger bag. "I'd gladly go through all that disquietude again to get this result. I love him so much, Care."

"Lord knows you deserve a nice, stable boyfriend."

"I just wish I got to see Clay more," I grumbled.

Before I could go on, Carrie turned away from me to throw a death glare at two young girls who lingered a few feet from us. "Can I help you?" she snapped at them. They didn't even look old enough to be in the high school hallways.

One girl held up a sheet of paper. "Do you know where this is?"

The other girl cleared her throat. "Mrs. Townsend said that's where we'd find the meeting for photography club."

Hearing the teacher's name, I knew I was correct. Mrs. Townsend was a seventh-grade teacher. These girls couldn't be over thirteen. I applauded their bravery in approaching two seniors. I certainly would never have done that at their age. I once took a detour all the way around the building to enter another door to avoid a group of upperclassmen congregating at the front entrance.

I squinted my eyes to read the messy scribbling. It was a room number. "You're in the wrong building, sweetie. You want the brown one with the columns on the other side of the auditorium."

"The one with the shrub out front that looks kinda like a dick," Carrie added, making one of them giggle. The other one elbowed her.

They both thanked us and ran off. "Did you hear? He called me sweetie."

"He's so cute. Do you think she's his girlfriend?"

That made me smile. It reminded me that not everyone knew who I was. I wasn't as infamous as I sometimes believed. It was refreshing.

"What were you saying?" Carrie asked.

"Just that Clay and I have barely had any time alone since the accident. And none since we got home. I can't even call him to have a private conversation."

Carrie flashed a mischievous smile. She dropped her book bag on the floor without a second thought about breaking anything inside and dug her phone out of her purse. She dialed a number and put the phone to her ear. "Hey, babe."

She paused for a moment, eyeing me. "Yeah, no. I don't care." She paused again and rolled her eyes, growing frustrated. "That's fine. Whatever! Give your phone to Clay."

My heart swelled, realizing what she was doing. Nervous jitters suddenly took over.

Carrie frowned. "I'm your fucking girlfriend, Jackson! That's why. Just do it because I asked you to. Christ!"

Carrie handed her phone to me. I put the phone to my ear. I heard Jackson's muffled voice saying, "It's Carrie. She wants to talk to you."

"Hello?" Clay said, sounding very confused.

Sweet Jesus! I loved his voice so much!

"Hi," I said.

"Baby?" Clay's confusion turned to excitement.

"So it's baby now, huh?" I asked, teasing.

"Sorry. That just came out."

I grinned widely, turning to face my locker, so Carrie couldn't see the flush of my face. "No. I like it."

"Me, too," Clay said. I could hear the joy in his voice. I could perfectly picture his bright, warm smile.

I reached into my locker, working the leftover strips of paper through the wire of my spiral notebook. "I wish I could see you without being watched like a hawk."

Clay released an exhausted sigh into the phone. "I know. This is torture. All I want to do is kiss you, and I can't. Not for real, anyway."

Carrie tugged on my sleeve. I asked Clay to hold. I turned to her. "What?"

"I have an idea." She had the tone she got whenever one of her ideas would receive disapproval from an authority figure.