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The diner turns out to be the very same diner we went to for brunch. So I wouldn’t say I’m positive it’s the only restaurant in Geneva, New York, but I’ve yet to see proof to the contrary. Also, it’s packed; there’s a line

spilling all the way out to the curb.

Mark raises his eyebrows. “Graduation crowd, maybe?”

By the time we make it inside, it isn’t even a question. I’m sure some of these people are townies, and some are probably

just random students who haven’t gone home yet. But there’s no denying that this place is MILF and DILF central. Definitely

parents, alumni, or both. Our group of eight is too big for a booth, but we luck into a table that more or less works. “As

long as you’re fine with close quarters,” the hostess says.

It’s one of those tables where only one side has individual chairs; across from that, it’s one big long bench affixed to the

wall. I end up on the bench side, squeezed between Imogen and Natalie. But it’s a manageable sort of squeeze.

As opposed to the one in my chest when Walter Holland takes the chair directly across from me. “Mind if I sit here?”

Mark’s sitting in the chair beside him—the one at the end, across from Nat. “Go ahead.” He shrugs, and I nod, soundlessly.

I don’t know what my brain thinks it’s doing right now.

I’m not a shy person. I don’t get tongue-tied, even with celebrities.

Not that I’ve met many celebrities. But I was fine when a state senator talked at our school sophomore year.

And there wasn’t a mouse, duck, or princess at Disney last year who could faze me.

It’s just Walter. Just this red-haired, bisexual nerd boy who, I’m now learning, has “mixed feelings” about pancakes. Which

isn’t a particular problem, given that the menus here are roughly the size of Genesis.

Absolute perfect inverse of the number of words in my brain.

Since when is basic small talk this hard? Why have I spent the last ten minutes silently workshopping the slickest way to

say hey, I’ve been obsessed with you for almost four years . Or watching your coming-out video might be the only time I’ve ever felt normal . Even dude, I liked your show .

I need a force quit. Reboot. I let my eyes drift toward the entrance, where the line’s even worse than before. There’s a counter

there, too, with a jukebox beside it. A song just ended—not something I know, but it’s got major Dad’s-phone-hooked-to-the-Bluetooth

energy. But then it slides straight into “Video Killed the Radio Star,” which always makes my heart feel like a strobe light.

When the first oh-a-oh hits, I can’t help but mouth along. And neither can Walter.

We exchange grins, and it’s just enough to jolt me back to myself.

“Best song,” he says, throwing down finger guns.

So, I whip mine out, too. “Pow. Bisexual shootout.”

“Armed and dangerous!”

“I have to stay on guard.” I raise both guns to my lips and blow. “The bis are everywhere.”

“Everywhere,” Imogen confirms, shooting me from the side.

“Sneak attack!”

“So, you guys really came all the way here from Westchester?” Walter asks.

“So did you,” Mark points out.

Walter pokes his arm. “It was my show!”

“Definitely worth the trip,” I tell him. “You were so great.”

He smiles, blushing a little. “Ha. Thanks. I don’t know about that.”

“Excuse me—you were amazing . Brilliant, funny, charming.” Tessa shoves his arm lightly. “I did think Rachael was gonna beat up some shippers, though.”

Walter laughs. “I thought Amelia was going to!”

“Was I that obvious?” I grin.

“Oh, totally. Your face was like—” He widens his eyes, cocks his head, and presses his lips flat together.

I cover my face. “Oh God—”

“No, it was amazing,” he says.

“Are the shippers always like that?” asks Mark.

“Kind of.” Walter grimaces. “But I’m used to it.”

“Yeah, but in person? That was bold .” Tessa shakes her head.

“They’re always bold. Someone literally asked us at VidCon if we were, quote-unquote, ‘still dating.’ In front of, like, nine

hundred people.”

I lean forward. “I remember that.”

“You were at VidCon?” asks Walter.

“Oh—yeah, no, sorry. Just saw someone’s recording.”

And I did. That’s absolutely, one hundred percent true. The clip was already doing the rounds on both subreddits before the panel even ended, instantly launching an all-out two-day war between shipping factions.

It was Hayden’s response to the question that fanned the flames. “We are... not dating,” he’d said—but he left this split-second

pause halfway through, and it shook the entire fandom to its core. Like. I don’t even have the words to explain the degree

to which people lost their shit over this.

The Pause , people called it.

To the Waldens, it meant, “We aren’t dating now, but we were .”

But to the Hayters, the Pause was Hayden’s way of placing an emphasis on the word are. Which was clearly a secret directive to ignore the not that came next.

It’s fundamental Drama Clash history. People practically wrote entire dissertations about it. And now I’m sitting in a diner,

listening to the literal Walter Holland casually mention it like it wasn’t an entire cultural reset.

Does he even know it was a cultural reset?

He has to know to some degree, right? He obviously knows there are shippers. I’m sure the discussions and chats and forum

posts are at least on his radar. There’s still discourse, even a full year after Drama Clash ended. Of course, the thought

of him scrolling through even one comment thread makes me want to melt through the wall.

Then again, it’s hard not to be at least a little bit thrilled by the sheer holy shit factor. Every single user on those forums would flip if they could see me now.

Walter Holland. A table’s width away from me.

Talking about shipping. I didn’t even know this was a thing I could daydream about.

Didn’t know magic could exist this loudly.

It feels too good to hold. Like one blink could dissolve it.

I legitimately have to leave and go to the bathroom at one point, just to rein in my face.

Also, I’m pretty sure Walter’s managed to loop Mark into the fandom.

“So when you say no, they just ignore you?” Mark asks. “Do they think you’re just lying?”

“I guess?” Walter reaches for his water glass. “I know a lot of them think Hayden’s queer and closeted, so maybe they assume

I’m lying to protect him. I don’t know.”

My mouth falls open. “That’s so shitty! Like, why would you put someone on the spot about that?”

“Right?” He shakes his head. “Luckily it’s mostly DMs and comments and stuff, so I just never respond.” But then he turns

to me, smiling. “I mean, I don’t respond to those comments. Yours was different.”

Yours was different.

My heart does a full-on somersault. I’m vaguely aware of Natalie’s gaze flicking toward me.

Yours was different. My comment was different. He has to be talking about the one from his coming-out post, right? September sixteenth. He actually

remembers. He recognized me.

Amelia from Larchmont. He wasn’t faking it. That wasn’t politeness.

“What was your comment?” Imogen asks.

“Just a porn link,” I say, and Walter almost spits out his water. I grin, turning back to Imogen. “No, it was just, like,

me fangirling incoherently on Instagram after I watched his coming-out video.”

Walter scoffs. “It was not! It was such a great message. I read it, like, six times in a row.”

It’s so earnest, it makes my cheeks go warm. “What he’s trying to say,” I explain, “is that it was high-quality porn.”

“Exactly.” Walter laughs. “No, I don’t know. Like—when I posted that video, the general response was, you know—fine. Like,

people were definitely... excited.”

Imogen’s eyes go wide. “They didn’t come after you, did they?”

“Like bigots?” asks Walter. “Not really. Maybe a few comments, but those all got reported. It wasn’t bad.” He rubs the back

of his neck. “It was more that people— some people—interpreted my coming-out video as, like, an announcement that Hayden and I were dating.” He smiles sheepishly. “Sorry,

I don’t mean to keep dunking on people. It was just, like—I think they forgot I could be queer without dating him, specifically.”

“We don’t even know if Hayden’s queer, right?” asks Tessa.

“Right!” Walter flips his palms up. “Like, who knows? He’s literally never talked about it!”

I’m like a Polaroid. A sudden snap in my brain; a slow unblurring.

He’s literally never talked about it.

We haven’t even gotten our food yet, and Walter just obliterated two entire shipping communities with a single throwaway comment.

Though I guess it’s hard to call it a revelation when he said the same thing in front of the entire crowd two hours ago. But

you never know with these statements. It could always be PR misdirection.

Except he wouldn’t go out of his way to confirm it in private, then, right?

I glance sideways at Natalie, but she’s staring down at the tablecloth. Aggressively staring, like she thinks she’ll be quizzed on it later.

“It’s honestly fine. Like, you kind of have to expect it,” Walter says. “And it’s mostly queer kids, so I get it. I mean,

I was out there, too, shipping the guys from Saturday.”

Edith lights up. “No way! Were you an Anjon shipper?”

“Actually.” He shakes his head, grinning. “Early Zuben. Like, before it was confirmed.”

I point to him. “Nice.”

“What can I say? I have excellent parasocial gaydar. And zero real-life gaydar.” He glances at Tessa.

“You mean how I had to come out to you twice, because the first time was too, quote-unquote ‘subtle’?” She rolls her eyes,

smiling. “Like, we’re talking about my little cargo pants ass eleven-year-old self literally saying the words, ‘I’m very gay.’”

“I was nine! And I thought you were being ironic,” he says.

The waitress returns, leaving behind a whole assortment of pancakes. “And a yummy little butter bagel for the bagel boy,”

says Tessa.

Walter raises his eyebrows at her, lifts the bagel, and plants a delicate kiss on its edge.