She takes my hand. “Come on.”

We wade through the thinning crowd as the last bell for the period rings. The writing is so small that I have to squint to read it, but scrawled there for everyone to see is a private conversation.

alone

YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE

being together takes two

I’VE BEEN DISTRACTED

by who

NOT BY WHO, BY WHAT

?

CAN WE TALK

are you ready to tell me the truth

ARE YOU READY TO LISTEN

Hannah lets out a low whistle.

“What do you think it is?” I ask eagerly. “This is juicy. What if he has some kind of weird secret like he’s actually a flat earther?”

“Well,” says Hannah with a soft chuckle, “then I guess Will is better off alone.”

I decide to stay on campus for lunch so I can keep an eye on things, and honestly revel a little bit in how cool this is.

As I’m walking down the hallway with Clem, Hannah, Alex, and Kyle on our way to the cafeteria, my stomach drops.

I knew it was only a matter of time before Patrick Thomas discovered the wall, and I know that there will always be Patrick Thomases. It’s the exact reason the wall was left to a group like Prism.

“Ignore him,” says Clementine.

“When I’m dead.”

Patrick holds a permanent marker in his hand, and he makes his way across the wall, adding vulgar notes and slurs to places where he’s clever enough to think of one. And when he’s stumped, he writes something like slut or assface.

I storm toward him and yank the marker out of his hand as swarms of students circulate in and out of the cafeteria.

“What the—” He whirls around, ready for a fight. “Oh, it’s just the homo pumpkin princess.”

Hannah tugs at my arm. “Come on. Let’s let the office know what he’s doing and then we can touch up the wall after school.”

“Uh-oh,” says Patrick. “Somebody call the PC police. I pissed off an ugly lesbian.”

And that’s when Clem pushes past the both of us. “Oh, hell no!” she says, and before any of us can stop her, my sister, who has been known to humanely catch and release spiders—SPIDERS!—winds her arm back and punches Patrick Thomas in the face.

“Hell yeah!” a girl shouts. I follow the voice to see Willowdean, Millie, Ellen, Amanda, and Callie all staring wide-eyed.

Immediately, blood begins to pour down his face and neck. “You—you broke my nose!” He screams, his voice cracking. “You dumb lesbo bitch!”

“What’s going on here?” asks Mr. Higgins. He groans the moment he sees Patrick, and I can’t tell if it’s because of the blood or the fact that it’s Patrick.

“That stupid lesbo broke my nose!” he says, his eyes wild, and if we weren’t in a crowded hallway, I would actually fear for our safety. Still, I put my body between him and my sister just in case. If he’s going to get to her, he’s got to get through me. Well, and then Hannah, who is holding Clementine protectively, and shielding her from Mr. Higgins’s view.

Getting in trouble like this so close to graduation and prom is the kind of thing that really throws a wrench in shit. Clem could easily get banned from prom and graduation for this. Hell, they could expel her and then all her big plans would be totally screwed.

“Enough with the slurs, son. We don’t tolerate that kind of language,” Mr. Higgins says in a firm, even voice. “Someone get this boy to the nurse.”

Patrick uses the hem of his shirt to soak up the blood as Aaron and Bryce part a path for him toward Ms. Laverne’s office.

“Now, who’s responsible for throwing the first punch?” asks Mr. Higgins, his hands on his hips and his keys jingling from his belt loop.

“I don’t want anyone else to get in trouble,” I hear Clem say quietly.

I turn as fast as I can to stop her from coming forward, but she steps past me in the opposite direction.

“It was me.” Her voice is soft. “I punched Patrick Thomas. And I’d do it again.”

Mr. Higgins nods once. “You’ll have to come with me, Ms. Brewer.”

Clem steps in line behind him, her hands gathered in front of her, like she’s marching to her execution.

But then someone steps out in front of Mr. Higgins, stopping him in his tracks. “It was me. I punched Patrick Thomas.”

Mr. Higgins lets out a grumbling sigh. “Move aside, Ms. Dickson,” he says to Willowdean.

She shakes her head furiously. “Clementine was covering for me. You know how much Patrick has taunted me since we were kids. This isn’t our first physical confrontation. I thought I’d give him one last parting gift.”

“Well, I guess you can come to the office too and we’ll let Principal Armstrong sort it out.”

“I punched Patrick Thomas!” says Ellen, stepping out in front of Willowdean.

Whispers begin to circulate through the crowd.

“I punched Patrick Thomas,” says Millie, her hands fixed on her hips.

“I punched Patrick Thomas,” Hannah calls from beside me.

“I punched Patrick Thomas.”

“I punched Patrick Thomas.”

Tucker steps forward, and I feel a tingle in my chest.

“I punched Patrick Thomas.”

“I punched Patrick Thomas.”

So many people are coming forward that I can barely keep up.

“Oh, hell,” I hear Mr. Higgins say.

“I punched Patrick Thomas.”

“I punched Patrick Thomas.”

“I punched Patrick Thomas.”

It feels like a chant. A rallying cry. Not only against Patrick Thomas. But against anyone who would dare stifle us or silence us. I’ve never felt a part of this school. For so long, this place was something to just survive, and everyone I went to school with was one more thing to endure. But it turns out that all that’s divided us is what unites us in the end.

“I punched Patrick Thomas.” My voice rings loud and clear.

Thirty-Three

That night, Clem takes the truck like she said she would. I stand in the driveway and watch her drive away like a nervous mother. “Don’t forget to use your blinker and check your mirrors!” I shout.

When Hannah shows up to pick me up, though, Millie is behind the wheel with Amanda in the passenger seat. The side door slides open and Willowdean pats the seat beside her. “Your chariot awaits.”

If I didn’t feel the intense claws of peer pressure sinking into my flesh, I would backpedal right into the safety of my house.

Hannah leans forward from the third row. “Time’s a-wastin’!”

I hoist my duffel bag over my shoulder and hop in next to Willowdean, and I literally have to bite my tongue to stop myself from nosing in on her boy drama. Behind me, Callie, Ellen, and Hannah are all squished into the third row.

“Hannah told us you were performing tonight,” says Millie as she speeds off out of my neighborhood, through residential streets. “And we had to be there!”

“That’s so nice of y’all,” I say, the words forming a rash in my throat. Great. More people I know watching me perform. I would have preferred to spend this drive in the silence I know Hannah would have gladly afforded me, because hell yes, I am definitely freaking out about what I’m going to do. But alas, I have no truck, and either I take this ride or I stay my ass at home.