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The whole walk back to Jojo’s, time hangs like a cloud. Zora says it’s only eight a.m., and I almost don’t believe it. Feels

like we’ve been out here for hours.

Natalie’s on the back porch, playing guitar in her pajamas—head bowed forward, ponytail grazing her shoulder. I can’t tell

if she’s singing along or just mouthing the words. But I know the exact moment she sees us. The dimples always give her away.

Zora goes straight inside, but I linger near the top of the porch stairs. “Whatcha playing?”

She strums a few chords instead of answering, and at first I can’t quite place it. But when she hums the next line, it clicks.

“‘I Say a Little Prayer’!”

She smiles. “Yup. Aretha Franklin’s version, though. Not the original.”

I scoot in beside her, studying her hands while I listen. It’s wild—she barely has to glance at them. Her fingers just know

where to press, even for the most complicated notes, the fussiest transitions. All the parts she thinks she sucks at. “So

who wrote the original?” I ask, once she’s finished. “I thought Aretha did.”

“Dionne Warwick. Actually—wait. I think it was written by Burt Bacharach?” She sets her guitar down and pulls out her phone

to check.

I watch her for a moment, smiling. “I have a question.”

She looks up.

“When was”—I lean closer—“the last time you just listened to a song without needing to know the entire history of when and why it was written. And who it was written for. And what the songwriter had

for breakfast that morning, and their full menstrual cycle—”

“I’m actually fine not knowing Burt Bacharach’s menstrual cycle.”

“You’re literally researching it! Right this second!” I point to her phone screen. “Ma’am, you are all the way down the rabbit

hole.”

“You’re right. Slippery slope. Ten-second Wikipedia search today, binoculars in the bushes tomorrow.”

“Exactly. Man, the shit you and Mark give me about my quote-unquote ‘parasocial relationship.’ You don’t see me memorizing

Walter’s stats—”

“Mmm. You’re just following him around the country.”

“It’s one event! We’re not even leaving the state.” I poke her arm. “Plus, it’s a public event , and I’m a member of the public. It’s basically mandatory.”

“Absolutely. Yes. That’s exactly how it works.”

“All I’m saying is, I’m not the one scouring the entire internet for fresh dirt on some musician. What are you looking for,

his home address?”

She looks at me. “You have no idea who Burt Bacharach was, do you?”

“Nope,” I say. “Not a clue.”

By the time we head inside, Jojo’s back, and the whole house smells like butter.

“Hope you guys are hungry,” she says, balancing a towering plate of waffles.

They’re a mess of different shapes and widths, stacked like the end of a Jenga game.

A drunk Jenga game, probably. Already the best breakfast of my life, hands down.

“So I did some research,” Jojo says, lowering the plate onto the edge of the table. “Walter and Hayden—wow. That’s a rabbit

hole.”

I grin up at her, scooting into a chair next to Mark. “You found the shippers.”

“Big-time.” She points a fork at me. “Here’s what I don’t get. Why are there two warring factions when it’s the same ship?

Am I getting that right? You’ve got the Waldens, you’ve got the Hayters, but they just don’t fuck with each other?”

“Yup. Yeah, it’s a thing. There’s, like, a whole lore behind it.”

“I want it. I want the lore.” Jojo settles onto a chair. “Fill me in.”

Cue Natalie and Zora making a whole show out of amused glances and head shakes.

Cue me making a whole show out of ignoring them. Because I’m pretty sure I was born for this moment. Pretty sure the universe

itself is giving me a drumroll.

“So, it’s basically like you’ve got two competing belief systems. First, the Hayters—”

“But with a Y, like Hayden,” Jojo says. “That was clever. I liked that.”

I laugh. “Yup. So, the Hayters literally believe Walter and Hayden are dating. Not even as a theory. They take it as absolute truth, and that’s where the lore comes in.

Basically, they go through the videos and find all this quote-unquote ‘evidence,’ and then they go back to their subreddit and treat it like straight facts.

And if anyone tries to question it, they fight. We’re talking a full-on brigade.”

“That sounds very normal and not at all unhinged,” says Jojo.

“Right.” I nod. “So then you’ve got the Waldens, who also ship Walter and Hayden, but they’re way more normal about it? Like, I think most of them believe Walter and Hayden probably

dated at some point, or they hooked up, or whatever. I mean, I’m sure some of them think they’re still dating. But they talk

about it more in theoretical terms. Like they’re not claiming to know anything for sure. I think that’s the main difference.”

I spear a piece of waffle on my fork. “And they really don’t like the Hayters, because they feel like the non-shippers and normies lump them all together, and they don’t want to

be associated with that. And the Hayteros—”

“I’m sorry— Hayteros ?” Jojo lets out a laugh.

I grin. “Yeah, they’re the ones who were, like, adamant that the boys were straight. Until Walter came out.”

“Wow,” Jojo says. “So the layers keep going, huh?”

“Infinitely,” says Nat.

“So which one are you? A Walden?” Jojo turns back to me.

“What? No—oh, definitely not! I’m neither. I’m just, like, a normal fan.”

“A normal fan,” Mark chimes in, “who asked Walter to prom.”

“A NORMAL FAN,” I repeat.

At least when it comes to shipping, that is.

Have I dabbled in casual discourse consumption?

Sure. But I was never out there flooding the boys’ comments or splicing together slow-motion video clips of every time they ever looked at each other.

Nor have I ever chimed in on those endless Reddit threads analyzing the hug from their second VidCon, or the proximity of their hands in the Chanukah Dramakkuh video.

There are people who claim they have proof that Hayden’s planning to come out via coded messages embedded in the script of The Odyssey Intergalactic .

And maybe he will—who knows? Maybe it’s all true, and they’re dating, and it’s just their managers who won’t let them say

it. After all, the shippers were right about Walter. Him being queer, I mean. They kept the faith even back in the Drama Clash

days, when people used to say he was so obviously straight. To be honest, that felt even weirder to me—the way the Hayteros

dug their heels in on his straightness. They’ve shut up for the most part, I guess, now that Walter’s officially out. Now

everyone just talks about Hayden.

Or they try to get Walter to talk about Hayden.

It’s actually a little bit terrifying. Even now, at least half the comments on Walter’s videos are just questions about Hayden.

You can tell it makes him uncomfortable, too—which is probably why he’s never really addressed it. I mean, he and Hayden used

to jokingly flirt in videos sometimes, but they stopped doing that when the queerbaiting accusations started. Other than that,

as far as I know, it’s just been a handful of super vague interview answers—references to people “having lots of questions

about our friendship” or “dissecting our personal lives.”

I really do feel so bad for Walter sometimes.

Hayden, too, in a way—though Hayden kind of seems built for fame. Not just because of the jawline and smoldery abs and everything.

It’s just something about how he carries himself. And his facial expressions. Maybe it’s the way he looks at the camera when

filming. And the way he always seems to know what his body is saying. But that’s never been Walter.

Walter blinks a lot. And fidgets. Sometimes he forgets where to look when he’s talking.

There’s just something endearingly awkward about his whole online vibe.

Even when Drama Clash was at the height of its popularity.

I’ll never forget the time someone tagged him in a Hottest Ginger Boys tribute post, alongside Hunter from the band Kiss and Tell.

When Hunter mentioned in the comments that he was a Drama Clash fan, Walter immediately went live just to freak out and fanboy about it.

I don’t know if I’m explaining this well. It’s more than just the fact that he seems down to earth. Walter’s famous, but he

doesn’t have a famous personality. It’s like he tripped over his shoelaces and crash-landed into a spotlight.

Mostly, he just seems like a Jewish kid from the suburbs—the kind of boy you’d find hoarding the chocolate hamentaschen at

the Purim mixer. Probably ordered a Wise Man costume meant for some nativity play, too, and styled it as Mordecai.

What I’m trying to say is, he seems like someone I could actually be friends with. In an alternate universe, he’s even here

on this road trip—squeezed between Natalie and me in Zora’s back seat.