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little. “Duh,” I went.
    The storage room was behind the stage. The drummer, he was looking at me now. Nailed. Might as well… “I’ll just get…” I
     lifted a limp finger and Lily swiveled to look in the direction I was pointing. I ducked my head and skittered around her,
     across the stage floor. The other guy, Ace or Trace, had rolled onto his stomach. He’d only joined band at the beginning of
     this year. He hitched his chin off the back of his hands and said, “Hiya.”
    I blew out a breathy “Hi.”
    “Woodwinds, right?”
    My shoulders hunched. A bleak smile might’ve stretched across my lips.
    The storeroom was locked. Damn. But I knew it would be. I cursed under my breath. Make a show of it. My rehearsed lie. I wheeled
     around.
    A conversation on the other side of the room had resumed without me, in spite of me. Good acoustics in here. Great. A guy
     was talking about coming out to his family, how his mom did this whole drama scene, sobbing at the dinner table and accusing
     him of ruining her life. How his dad offered to hire him a prostitute. Everyone groaned at that.
    I did not even want to go there. Telling my family? I couldn’t imagine what Mom would do. She’d go ballistic. Dad?

    The dread and fear of exposing myself to them was nothing compared to telling my friends. Did they even qualify as friends?
     There wasn’t one of them I could trust, or confide in.
    Lily must’ve seen how green I got because she piped up, “My mom was fine with it. My dad too. I mean, not everyone has a bad
     experience coming out.”
    “That’s true,” another girl said. “For me it was like this huge relief not to have to hide anymore. Or lie.”
    Hide and lie.
    “It’s always a relief,” one of the guys said. “Every time you come out.”
    You had to do it more than once? I guess he meant to your family, then your friends. Ex-friends. Friends who’d find you disgusting.
     Sick.
    Once would be enough. Once was too much.
    Ace said, “So are you… ?”
    I couldn’t do this. I ran for the exit.
    “Hey,” Lily called behind me. “Wait.” A wall, the restroom, a bank of lockers flew by. “What’s your name?”
    I ground to a stop. My whole body was shaking. My balance was rocky, but I braced and turned around.
    “Mariah,” I said. My voice sounded raspy. Dry throat. “Mariah Morales.”
    “Mariah.” She crossed her arms loosely and let them fall. Like she was nervous.
She
was nervous? “You can stay,” she said. “You’re welcome.”

    “No.” I shook my head. “I can’t.”
    She held my eyes for a moment, then nodded. I didn’t want her to feel sorry for me. But she smiled warmly, like she understood.
     “When you’re ready,” she said. Her voice was steady, and sure.
    She took a step back, pivoted, and left me there.
    I watched as she strode down the hall, as she disappeared back into the band room.
    It was quiet, no noise. No screaming or yelling or running in the halls. No fear, no dread. Just peace. It lingered.
    When I’m ready, Lily had said. My eyes lit on Band Room 2. The door was left open.

R achael, I fucked up. I know that.
    I’m sorry. I need you.
    Please, Rach. I want you back.
    <3 Alex
    I showed Jordan the printout and her eyes slit as she scanned the page. “She can’t be serious,” Jordan said. “She wants you
back?
”
    Teva crooked her neck to read from Jordan’s lap. She screwed up her face. “God. She is such a player.”
    “No, she isn’t,” I said.
    “Rachael.” Jordan cocked her head at me.
    My eyes fell. They dredged across the checkered floor. Peeling tiles and crud in the corner. Jamba Juice had aged a hundred
     years. Had I been out of it that long?
    “Rachael,” Jordan said.

    I lifted my eyes slowly.
    “She is.”
    No, she isn’t, I argued to myself. She isn’t. She only loves me.
    Teva took a sip of her smoothie. “You’re not thinking about going back with her, are you?”
    I bent to my straw. No. I wasn’t.
    Jordan dug out a