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Connor’s mom let him stay in bed all day on Saturday. Because he was meant to rest due to the concussion.

He finished the book Speak the night before when he was supposed to be sleeping. His eyes just wouldn’t stay closed. He had to pretend to get woken up every couple of hours by his mom so they could make sure his brain wasn’t actually broken or something. He didn’t know. He barely slept.

That girl, in the book, Melinda? She got raped at a party.

So there was a reason she was messed up.

And then at the end she was getting better, people noticed her, and the ending was kind of happy. Her old best friend called her.

Connor felt like a dick because he was kind of pissed off about it. See, this is why he was a bad person because he was pissed off at a fictional character for having a reason to be messed up. When he read it, Connor was angry. But not for the right reasons. He was almost mad that he knew what had happened. He wasn’t mad about that guy Andy being disgusting and hurting this girl, he was mad that...

Connor sort of wished she was messed up just because she was messed up. Like he was.

Maybe nobody was messed up just because they were messed up, like Connor was. Maybe he was just that much of a freak that he was all screwed up and miserable all the time, but everyone else who was miserable had reasons to be miserable.

Connor thought a lot about Melinda’s mom in the book. How she didn’t seem to know what was going on, how she seemed really annoyed with Melinda about everything, how she was disappointed Melinda had become so different.

Were his parents like that? Connor wondered.

Maybe they were… just clueless.

He wondered what would happen if he just walked up to his mom right now and said, “Mom, sometimes I want to stop existing and my head is all broken and everything hurts and I can’t fix it and I’m starting to wonder if any of this is even real, if I’m even real, like, you’d tell me if I was imaginary right?”

He wondered if there was a place worse than a mental hospital that they could put him.

He also thought about Melinda’s parents noticed her drawing and getting her a sketchbook for Christmas.

They noticed.

And a lump formed in his throat.

Connor was pretty sure he could write out “I kind of wish I had never been born” in his own blood in his parents’ bedroom and they would look at it and not comprehend the meaning.

At least her parents knew something wasn’t right. They paid attention, even if it wasn’t much.

He was jealous of a fictional character’s kind of shitty parents. That’s how low he’d sunk now, petty jealousies over imaginary people.

The night before he had reread the scene where Melinda hurt herself with a paperclip.

He wondered what that felt like.

If it made her feel better even for a second.

He found a paperclip in his dad’s home office. But he must not have pressed down hard enough because he never broke the skin.

Monday morning. Breakfast.

This time Connor showered and changed his clothes without complaint to try to avoid the long looks his dad had been giving him all weekend (at least, the couple of times his dad was at home).

“Connor.”

His dad was growling across the table. Connor stared at his breakfast (his mom had made eggs and waffles and toast and there was a bunch of fruit too… she’d probably read something online about breakfast being so much more important than previously thought). He wasn’t hungry, but he kept moving the food around, forcing down the occasional bite.

“Watching your figure?” Zoe said through a mouthful of food, smirking at him.

“Screw you.”

“Connor, language,” His mom snapped.

His dad, of course, wasn’t giving up. “Connor. Come talk to me in the garage.”

It wasn’t a question.

So Connor shoved away from the table, leaving most of his food uneaten.

His dad followed.

Into the garage.

Connor wondered, hilariously, darkly, if his dad was going to kick his ass too. He hadn’t been around all weekend really. He was out golfing a lot.

“Your mom told me you got in a fight with Brian Harris.”

Of course she did.

Of course he waited to say something until right before school.

And of course in his dad’s mind it was a fight, not an epic asskicking resulting in a concussion.

“Look, you have to fight back, Connor. If Brian’s going to be an asshole, you have to be one back or he’ll never respect you.”

Connor thought the possibility of respect was long gone.

“I’m not gonna fight with Brian,” He mumbled.

“Is it because you don’t know how?”

Well of course it fucking was. Plus that whole thing where Brian was massive, a mountain, and Connor was like… a fallen twig or something.

“Make a fist,” Larry was saying.

“No.”

“Connor, make a fist.”

He rolled his eyes. And made a fist. The way he did when he was trying not to start throwing stuff. Clenched tightly into a ball.

“No, no, thumb on the outside.”

Connor uncurled his hand. Reformed a fist with his thumb on the outside.

“Better.” Larry nodded to himself. “Now, when you throw a punch… you want to land it with the knuckles of your first two fingers. Otherwise you can break your hand.”

Connor nodded numbly. Sure. Like he’d ever actually hit anyone. Like he could ever live that down when he was still carrying around the stupid printer thing after five years. Like he wouldn't be immediately murdered if he tried.

“Now, I want you to hit me as hard as you can.”

Connor shook his head, like, no. No chance. No way. “I’m not gonna do that.”

“It’s not like you’re gonna hurt me, I’ve got ninety pounds on you. Go for it.”

“Dad .”

“Come on, you were always throwing things when you got angry before. Get angry. Now's the time. Come on! Hit me!”

Connor thought, suddenly, that he might cry and he had no idea what that was about but his throat burned and his eyes burned and he just wanted to leave.

His dad shoved him, not hard but still. Pushed his shoulders enough that he had to take a step back not to fall. “Come on. Don’t be a pussy, Connor. You have to learn to defend yourself or they’ll never leave you alone. You can’t just act like a girl about this and say shit back to them or curl up and cry. You’ve got to hit them back. You can’t just...”

Connor’s dad kept talking, but the noise had sort of faded to a dull whine. Now he was getting this crap from his dad too? Really ? Now he was getting it at home as well, now it was just a bunch of never ending crap and garbage and Connor might be a bad person but he didn’t mean to be he didn’t ask for any of this -

“Connor, what the hell?” His dad shoved him, hard, backward, and Connor went sprawling, landing hard on the concrete floor and why was his dad’s mouth bleeding, what-what had happened?

His dad shook his head, spitting blood on the concrete. Blood. He looked down at Connor, breathing heavily, furious.

Oh no.

Crap. Crap crap.

Crap.

His dad was literally going to kill him then and there.

His dad shook his head again, and then his face changed. He was smiling. Impressed almost. “Well. I guess you can throw a punch after all.” He sounded almost… proud.

Connor’s hands were shaking and his knuckles hurt. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

But his dad was smiling widely, like Connor had done something very very right. There was some blood in his teeth. “If Brian comes after you again, just do that. He won’t bother you anymore.”

“S-sure.”

Connor’s hands didn’t stop shaking until third hour.

And even then…

What kind of a freak hits their dad? He knew kids who got hit by their dads. He knew kids who got hit.

He didn’t know anybody who would hit their dad.

Damn it.



“What are you always reading?”

Jared slid into the seat next to Connor in their English class.

Connor stuffed the book back into his bag. It was called The Realm of Possibility, and it was written like a bunch of unrhyming poems. He picked it up because he was too scared to check out the other book by the author on the shelf at the library. Called Boy Meets Boy.

He wasn’t even going to think about why he had been itching to pick that up. He just wasn’t. Especially not at school where he was starting to suspect all of his stupid thoughts were actually reading like a CNN scroll across his forehead.

“Just… books,” Connor said to Jared, sort of dismissive. “Why?”

“How do you have time to read so much?”

Connor ignored the question. Because pointing out that having no friends really opened up your schedule was probably not something you did with someone you wanted to be your friend.

Instead he said, “Did you finish the book yet?”

Jared rolled his eyes. “Hell no. I was busy.”

Connor said nothing.

And Jared sighed. “Alright fine, I didn’t do anything cool . I’m getting bar mitzvahed in a couple of weeks so my parents are on me to practice my Hebrew.”

Again, Connor said nothing. He didn’t know anything about bar mitzvahs. Just that he had never been invited to one.

“I read like. The first fifty pages?”

“Right.”

“It was okay. Are these people Southern? In the book.”

Connor shrugged. “I guess? I think they are supposed to live near D.C.”

Jared nodded. “How come that girl Leslie is so, like, weird? Is she supposed to be a lesbian? She has short hair.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “She’s like ten or eleven. I don’t think she’s meant to be anything.”

“But wouldn’t you, like, know? If you were gay, don’t you like just know by the time you’re like eleven?”

Connor bit his tongue.

Jared was making fun of him.

Just.

Fantastic.

“No. I don’t think you just know.”

Jared blinked a few times. Like he was weighing his options. Like he knew whatever he said next might lead to Connor freaking out massively and throwing a desk into the blackboard or something. Not that he'd actually done that.

...Mr. Paisley had tackled him before that happened in fifth grade.

Jared was sort of smiling at Connor like Connor was the kind of dog that you know bites but you want it not to bite you. “I just thought… like that Lady Gaga song? Born this way? I just thought. You would like, know .”

“Right,” Connor said, his breathing a little heavy. “Right.”

“Are you like…?” Jared was looking at him with raised eyebrows. Like despite his better judgement he had to ask. “You’re not like… gay or whatever are you?”

“NO!” Connor practically shouted.

Everyone stopped to look at him.

He bit the inside of his lip until they all looked away again about a minute later. “No,” Connor said, quieter. “I’m not.”

“It’s, like…” Jared started. Then stopped. Shook his head. “Anyway, so, do they like… date? Jesse and Leslie? In the book?"

Connor rolled his eyes. “No. Why? Looking for tips?”

“Heck yes I am. I’ll take all the help I can get.”

Connor kind of smiled. And Jared kind of smiled.



Crap.

Crap.

Why didn’t he just freaking, tell Jared Kleinman, hell, tell the whole school how weird he was and that sometimes he thought about boys kissing? Like, just announce that you’re probably some gross gay weirdo to everyone. As if you’re not crazy enough already, let’s add to it. Just go ahead and make it worse.

Connor just… he needed to stop letting his mind wander. And he never should have read the back of that book with the boys being gay in the library.

And then the book he did check out had boys who kissed each other anyway.

Kissing. Boys kissing boys.

The thought of it made him blush. God, he was so weird . That was gross right? The thought of boys kissing each other? It was definitely gross.

Did Connor want to kiss boys now too? Did that mean when his dad used to kiss him goodnight that he was being all weird and gay about it and now he was forever screwed up because he couldn’t stop thinking about boys kissing each other and if that meant he wanted to kiss boys.

Well.

The idea of kissing anyone was so out of the question for Connor.

But.

Boys kissing was…

On his mind.

A lot.

It was probably super gross that he thought about it.

Like a lot.

Just. So. Gross and messed up and weird.

And sometimes he had dreams about it too. Not like sex dreams, he wasn’t that much of a creep. But just… dreams about guys. Just. Existing. Talking to him. Sometimes kissing each other (never Connor though, even in his dreams he knew he was way too gross to have someone think about him that way).

He was such a freak.

If his parents ever saw his browser history he’d probably get shipped off to one of those weird bible camps that, like, tried to make you stop being gay by yelling at you all the time and saying you would go to Hell or whatever.

His dad had already said something about some kind of boot camp this summer when Connor got caught ditching gym class to read in the unused auditorium around Christmas.

The internet was no help at all.

Like, Connor couldn’t just Google “how to tell if you’re gay.”

Well, okay, he could and did do that but it didn’t actually tell him anything.

Half of the stuff that came up was a bunch of jokey quizzes. The other half was porn.

Like, he was curious. He wasn’t dead. He watched it. Just to like. See.

He also watched straight porn and some girls hooking up. Just to see if…

Just to see.

Mostly it just made him feel kind of sick? Like even watching on mute, just watching, was just…

Nobody looked happy.

Maybe everyone was just as miserable as he was and they all just hid it better until they were having sex.

Or maybe it was just that porn stars were sad people.

Any way, while attempting to figure this out, Zoe like practically broke his door down accusing him of stealing her diary.

Which.

He did technically do that.

Not even technically .

He just swiped it from Zoe's desk when he got home because he was pissed off at her.

Connor had seen her twirling her hair while she talked to Brian Harris in the hallway this afternoon, and it pissed him off.

There was another entry in Zoe’s about how lame he was, but this one included a passage on how hot Brian Harris was too. Which.

Nope. That wasn’t gonna fly.

Anyway, since Zoe was knocking and Connor was just… watching porn on mute, he exited the window as fast as humanly possible. Cleared his entire history. Just in case. She’d gone for his computer before when he’d taken her stuff. He got in a lot of trouble for watching some documentary about a forest in Japan where a lot of people liked to kill themselves.

Fished Zoe’s stupid pink diary out of the shoebox under his bed where he’d hidden it and flipped to the passage about Brian Harris.

When he opened the door he started reading out loud, “Brian is sooooo cute. I can’t believe we used to hang out all the time when we were little. He’s my favorite person ever, especially since he gave my brother a swirly. I want to make out with him even though I’ve never kissed anybody before.”

“Give it back!”

The only thing Connor had going for him at the moment was being taller than Zoe. He held it over her head smirking. “So, Brian’s super hot now? Whatever happened to your crush on Patrick?”

“Shut up! Give me that back, that’s private!”

But Connor just smirked and held it out of her reach, reading out loud again, “I wonder if I could ask him to the Turnabout Dance? At least I know my idiot brother won’t be there. Brian looks like he’d be a really good dancer. He listens to super cool music.” Zoe lunged at him and missed, and Connor took off running, listing all of the terrible country bands that Brian listened to apparently. Zoe was running after him, screaming.

“MOM!” Zoe was shouting, “CONNOR TOOK MY DIARY!”

By the time he rounded a corner down the stairs, Zoe was crying.

Which he thought was a little bit dramatic.

Their mom was on the phone with someone, looking pissed off, and then Zoe tried to tackle him but he was faster so she ran headlong into the couch screaming bloody murder.

He should have stopped teasing her, but he didn’t. She made him feel so stupid, she wrote all the mean crap, she liked Brian Harris , so it was just payback.

Right?

“Mom!” Zoe was yelling. “MAKE HIM GIVE IT BACK!”

“Connor Lawrence,” his mom said absently, phone held to her chest. “Leave your sister alone.”

He rolled his eyes.

Held the diary out in his outstretched hand.

“God, Connor, you are such a freak ,” Zoe muttered, wiping her eyes, reaching for the book.

But that just set him off again and before Zoe could take it out of his hand, Connor yanked it back. Pulled it open.

Started tearing out pages a random.

“CONNOR! Mom, he’s WRECKING MY DIARY!”

His mom said something to the person on the phone and then she was in the middle of them, Zoe was crying and shoving him and Connor was just grabbing pages as fast as he could, ripping them out of the little book, tearing them into pieces, just destroying it because he could because he wanted to because he didn’t want anyone else to see that even his stupid little sister hated him for no reason so he might as well give her one.

His mom tugged the ruined diary out of his hands.

“Go to your room, Connor, you’re grounded.”

He didn’t fight or ask how long he was grounded for. He just went upstairs and slammed the door.

He wondered if he’d be in worse trouble when his dad got home. He wondered if his dad would hit him again, like he had once before, when Connor just threw things whenever he was angry.

Connor sort of hoped his dad might.

He sort of thought that would give him an excuse to hit him back.

His fingers were itching to make contact with something. All day, ever since this morning, he just wanted to hit something, he was so pissed off and it was almost scary because he was so used to just trying to force all of it down so he didn’t throw things but now he couldn’t put a lid on it and he just wanted.

He wanted to hit something. Or someone.

Pro tip: if you punch a wall, it leaves a mark. Well two actually. On the wall and on your hand.



Mr. Weston was in charge of this study hall, at the end of the day. It was normally in the classroom, but Mr. Weston agreed to let everyone go to the computer lab because everyone was working on their presentation. It was the very end of the day; most people were just talking with their partners about what they were doing after school.

But Jared had left early for a doctor’s appointment.

Connor thought the end of the day might be a good time to start practicing being normal.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays Connor spent this hour in jazz band, which was just. Tragic.

He played piano. Took lessons. Had been taking them since he was like six. The band teacher lost his mind when he found out; drafted Connor into jazz band immediately because they desperately needed a keyboardist.

Connor also had that class with Zoe, who was so advanced at the guitar that she was in the seventh and eighth grade jazz band despite only being a sixth grader.

Embarrassing.

Plus she was friends with, like, all of the girls in that class.

Which was just. Worse.

Bad.

Since Connor wasn’t friends with anyone but girls especially.

He didn’t get girls.

And girls just didn’t talk to him.

Guys talked to him, made fun of him too, but to girls he might as well have been invisible.

Even Becca, who played like literally every instrument and sometimes played the other keyboard and who had literally sat right next to him all year, wouldn’t talk to him. Once he tried to tell her that he liked her shoes, since he did, they had little strawberries on the laces which he thought were cool and that was back during the short time when he was, like, making an effort to talk to people out of sheer desperation. She’d given him the stink eye, and he said nothing else.

But since it was Wednesday, there was no opportunity to be less weird in jazz band. So he was trying to do it in study hall instead.

Since Monday when he freaked out and ripped up Zoe’s diary, Connor had decided he needed to figure out how to be less of a freak ASAP.

Also his dad had been pissed off about it and told him to “get it together.”

Which: fair.

So he hadn’t been reading between classes anymore. For two whole days. It was sort of terrible, not reading, because normally he could sort of zone out and escape during passing periods but. It was this or his mom having a meeting with his guidance counselor to discuss his “difficulties making friends.” Which would literally ensure he would never have any friends ever.

So no more reading. Instead he just tried to look… normal and nice. Like maybe if he looked normal someone would look at him and realize he was super totally not a weirdo and definitely not gay or anything.

“So.”

Connor looked up from his computer screen. Mr. Weston had pulled up the empty chair beside him.

“Hi,” Connor said, not sure what was happening.

“Just checking in. How’s working with Jared on the group presentation?”

Connor shrugged. “Fine. I guess. He hasn’t finished the book yet, though.”

Mr. Weston nodded. “I figured, since when I asked him he said the book was ‘fine.’”

Connor sort of glanced down at the keyboard.

“I noticed you haven’t been reading between classes…”

He stared at the keyboard extra hard.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah. Um. It’s fine.”

Mr. Weston heaved a sigh. “I heard about last week in gym class…?”

Connor felt his hands clench involuntarily into fists.

“Is that a thing that has happened before?”

“No.” It’s not technically a lie, because technically speaking Brian Harris had never shoved Connor’s head into a toilet before.

Mr. Weston frowned. “Well. If you need to talk…”

“I don’t,” Connor said because holy shit could Mr. Weston not see he was already making it harder for him? Nobody was ever going to talk to him if teachers lurked and checked in and told him that they were around if he needed to “talk.” Which sounded a little creepy, actually. Like molester-ish. “Thanks.”

Mr. Weston got up. Returned to the teacher’s desk. Resumed typing on his computer.

Connor could practically feel everyone else in the computer lab staring at him.

He hunched lower over his keyboard, typing about how Jesse is embarrassed about his clothes and how being poor or rich was a theme in the book.

Friday, after school.

He survived a week. This time without getting concussed or jumped in gym class.

His not-reading strategy seemed to be working. Jared had said “hey” to him in the hall between classes twice today and once yesterday.

As Connor crossed the school’s front yard, he saw someone across the street waving at him.

Admittedly, Connor assumed they were waving at someone else, and he whipped around expecting somebody behind him getting ready with a “Kick Me” sign.

Nobody there.

He squinted across the street since he “forgot” his glasses this morning.

Oh.

It was Jake.

Jake was a sophomore in high school. He smoked cigarettes and drank and dressed in all black. Sometimes he talked to Connor. Once, he got Connor to smoke a cigarette.

Jake was standing next to a girl with hair the color of Ariel’s from the Little Mermaid. Crayon red. Next to her was.

This guy.

Connor hadn’t ever seen him before.

He just.

Looked.

Cool.

He had long dark hair. He was wearing boots. And a black hoodie. His lip was pierced and he was smoking a cigarette.

Connor jogged over to Jake and the other people. “Hey,” He said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Hey. Dudes, this is Connor. He’s rad as hell for a little dude. One time he threw a printer at that cunt Mrs. G.”

“Nice!” said the cool looking guy, and he held his hand out for a high five. Connor high fived him awkwardly.

“This is Aidan and Sarah.”

“Hi,” Connor said sort of breathlessly.

“We’re going to go drink this and throw the bottle at the train,” Aidan said, pulling open his sweatshirt to reveal a huge bottle of beer. “Wanna come?”

Connor looked over his shoulder, back at the school. He couldn’t see Zoe around. Or anyone else he knew. Technically he was grounded, but his mom had been pretty lax about it considering that he ruined Zoe's diary. It was like she didn't actually care. Zoe wasn't speaking to him still, but she wasn't around to tattle.

“Sure.”

So they set off, these cool older kids and Connor, who was trying not to seem like overly excited about being invited. He had learned from watching other people that acting like you cared was just going to get your ass kicked.

“Smoke?” Jake asked him, holding out a pack.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Dude, where’d you find this kick ass kid?” Sarah asked, smiling at Connor. “He’s baller.”

Connor felt his face flush.

Sarah was sort of… pretty. She had a lot of makeup on, and her nose was pierced twice which sort of confused Connor, but she was smiling at him and. Well.

He smiled back.

Jake handed him a lighter, and Connor got the stupid cigarette lit and inhaled without coughing.

But of course the moment he managed it, as they were crossing back through the middle school grounds, Connor made out the outline of Jared Kleinman, arms crossed. They were supposed to talk after school about their stupid project.

He forgot.

“Hey, hold this, forgot I need to give this kid something, one second.”

Like he was so cool.

Connor ran over to Jared, because he was trying to do this fast. Jared was looking at him suspiciously. “Hey, sorry, I forgot we were meeting,” Connor said, breathless.

Jared’s eyes were narrowed. “Is that Jake Carter?”

Connor shrugged, saying, “Yeah.”

“I heard he does herion.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “That’s stupid.” He blew some of his hair out of his eyes. “So. The project?”

Jared nodded. “I’ve still got to finish the book. Do you want to come over Sunday and we can, like, figure out the power point?”

Connor’s heart almost stopped. “You want me to come over?”

Jared rolled his eyes. “Look, the library isn’t open on Sundays after, like, noon and my parents are wigging out over the project so… Yeah. Can you come over so we can like work on it or whatever?”

“I don’t know where you live.”

“I’ll text you the address.”

“You don’t have my phone number,” Connor said.

Jared looked exasperated. “I’ll freaking email you then.”

Connor blinked. Right. Being not a freak might mean actually giving out his phone number. “No. I… what’s your number? I’ll text you.”

So Jared told him.

And Connor put the number in his phone.

It was the first new contact he had added. The others were all, like, mom, dad, Zoe, his cousin Josh, his grandma.

He texted Jared fast, trying not to overthink it, saying just “hey it’s connor” and leaving it.

“So. Sunday.”

“Yeah.”

Connor nodded, turning to go. “See you-”

“Why do you hang out with those guys?” Jared asked him suddenly.

Connor stopped. Blinked. Shrugged. “Because they asked me to.”

“And you hang out with everyone who asks you to hang out?”

Connor tilted his head to the side a little. “Well… nobody else asks.”

Jared nodded.

And Connor headed back to Jake and Aidan and Sarah, who made fun of him for talking to a baby seventh grader. He got a new cigarette from Jake (who had finished his last one) and the four of them headed down to drink beer at the little park near the train tracks on the other side of town.

Jake and Sarah and Aidan all made fun of Connor. His clothes. His grades (they all thought it was lame that he had so many As). His lame preppy little sister.

Connor might have minded. But they kept passing the bottle back to him.

Which was sort of like having friends.

And then they told him to throw the empty bottle at the first moving train they saw?

Well. He did it. Chucked it with everything he had.

The bottle shattered into a million glittering pieces.

And the others laughed.

And it was sort of like having friends.