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“What if I do?”

He drops his head, and we fall into silence as I think about what next week is going to look like when we’re back in school. The thing is that, although we’ve changed, nothing else around us has. There’s no way we can be friends at school and not catch heat for it.

“I don’t want to be the center of attention,” I admit, and when he looks at me, I explain, “If people saw us hanging out at school ... if they heard you sticking up for me, everyone would start talking and wondering why.”

“So?”

“They talk about me enough, but for the most part, I go unnoticed. But they all notice you.”

“You don’t want to be seen with me?” He’s hurt by this, I can tell in his voice, so I shrug.

“I don’t want to be seen at all.”

As we stare at each other, I urge him to understand where I’m coming from, but when he starts to slowly shake his head, I beg softly, “Please.”

“You really expect me to just keep my mouth shut when they start saying shit about you?”

“You act like this is something new for me ... that I haven’t been dealing with it for years.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“I just think we should stay in our own corners while we’re at school.”

It really is for the best. I can only imagine the gossip that would start spreading if people found out we were friends and the attention it would bring my way. It makes me anxious to even think about and causes my left palm to itch. When he notices me rubbing it, he takes my tingling hand in his.

“Okay,” he agrees reluctantly, earning him a feeble grin in return.

In the quietness of my room, we sit, holding hands, and I don’t know about him, but my mind drifts back to this summer and how everything felt easier between us when we were hidden away. Memories cause my fingers to strengthen around his, and when they do, he rocks into me.

“It feels weird, huh?” he asks.

“What does?”

“These secrets we have. It sort of puts us on an island.”

It’s exactly how I’ve felt since returning from my first stint at Hopewell.

Leaning my head onto his shoulder, we sit a while longer before he heads out.

“What was that all about?” my mom asks when I shut the front door.

“Nothing. We were just comparing our class schedules,” I lie as I walk into the kitchen to get a soda from the fridge.

She follows me and takes a seat at the island, saying, “He looks awfully familiar.”

“Because it’s Sebastian.”

“No, I mean, like I’ve seen him recently.”

I pop the tab and tell her, “You probably saw him at family day.”

Her eyes drop as she searches her memory, and when they lift to mine, they’re a little wider. “He was at Hopewell,” she states, and I nod. “Why was he there?” she asks, catching me by surprise.

“Mom!”

“What?”

“I’m not going to tell you that.”