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Secrets—they’re a son of a bitch.

Lucy leaps across the donuts to hug Rio, knocking her over. I join. We’re a dogpile of laughter and grass stains and friendship.

26

I never come to MaplewoodHigh football games. I don’t do the whole football thing, period. Not unless it’s required, like Dad and UGA games. Even then, it’s only bearable because of Willow and Clover. The first half is almost over. I’m sitting on the hood of my car in the parking lot outside the stadium. I’m not sure who’s winning. Judging by the constant echo of frustrated yelling, I’m guessing it’s not us.

Lucy’s inside. She’s texted me seven times. Jayden has too. Brook sent me a video message from the stands, surrounded by the boys’ swim team, whose faces are painted crimson and steel. I wonder if Ian’s inside. Then I frown. We still haven’t talked.

The bright stadium lights create this cool lavender tint to the sky. It’s chilly tonight. My nose is tingly, and I really should’ve brought a heavier hoodie, but I don’t know. I’m wearing Ian’s hoodie. Why? Because pathetic is in my DNA—probably on Mystery Donor’s side.

My fingers ache from the cold. I squeeze my phone. It lights up: 8:02 p.m. Half-time is soon. That means the homecoming court presentation and the crowning and everything I’m avoiding. Well, everything superficial.

My phone screen brightens again. A text from Free:

Big nite!!!

I snort. We had another meeting at Savage yesterday. No big family stories or heavy questions. Just us, shooting the shit.

I text back:

Yep. Potentially Maplewood’s first openly gay HC prince. Yay!!!

I hope she gets my sarcasm. She texts a string of emojis that are either cheering me on or calling me on my cynical bullshit, probably the latter. Then, for whatever reason, I think about our mother. I almost visited her grave today. Free gave me the address. She had to coordinate the entire funeral and the burial at a cemetery in Decatur; her father helped. To bury your mother at nineteen—Free’s stronger than I’ll ever be.

What would I say to Ruby?

Why?

What made you so sure I’d end up happier than with you and Free?

Would you love me if you knew I was gay?

I have nothing to say to her. Not because I’m angry or because I’m hurt. Because I have a mom. I have a family. And Ruby gave me that gift, so I guess the only thing I could say is, “Thanks,” but I’d still feel weirded out talking to a headstone.

The thing about curiosity is, it never really goes away until you have an answer. It stays quietly curled up in a dark corner of your mind. Always there.

I text Free again:

Do you think she’d be OK w/ me being gay?

It takes a minute before her reply chimes in:

She would’ve loved you for being you. She was dope like that.

I tip my head back, smile at the lavender sky. That’s good enough.

The cheers from the stadium boom. A few people mill about in the parking lot. It’s time for bathroom and smoke breaks. It also means it’s time for that thing I’m hiding from.

By the time I makeit to the side of the football field where the homecoming royalty and their escorts are crowded together, the seniors are marching onto the green to the band’s sick rendition of Fall Out Boy’s “Thnks fr th Mmrs.” At the back is a pouting Ford Turner. He looks like playing dress-up instead of competing in the big game is killing him. Good.

The juniors are a talking, cheering, disorganized mess. Sara’s at the front. She looks amazing, all deep reds and hints of gold. Her hijab is crimson. She has this perfect winged eyeliner, like the ones in YouTube tutorial videos. It’s kind of stunning. Differences aside, I can admit Sara deserves to be chosen Homecoming Princess. And not just because Lucy—the traitor—opted out of the ballot, but because Sara truly is junior class royalty.

I spot Jayden in the chaos. It’s the hair—flawless and super tall. He’s wearing his cheerleader uniform, but with a bowtie: classic Jayden Blue. He’s being escorted by both his moms. They’re in matching bowties and suspenders. Nancy’s hair is swept up with flowers, and Tori’s sporting a gel-stiff faux-hawk. It’s clear where Jayden gets it from. Chloe, as star quarterback, has to focus on the game instead of walking him onto the field. It’s awesome his moms are here, though.

He waves me over. I pause. It hits me: I don’t have an escort. I’m not even dressed-up like everyone else. I look out into the stands, where hundreds of faces are blurred by the bright lights. This isn’t what I want. This isn’t who I am.

I shake my head at Jayden and try not to drown in guilt when he frowns. Then he nods, as if he understands. Homecoming court isn’t my scene, just like GSA isn’t his.