One thing is certain: I was not put on this earth to comfort crying girls.

Asha's cries sound a little more like howls. I stand up and pat her back, gingerly, and mutter, "There, there. There."

She wails louder.

"Do you, um...." I take a step back, my hands like goalposts in the air because I have absolutely no idea what I am doing. "Are you okay? What is.... What's all this?"

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," Asha says, the words tumbling swiftly out of her. Her mascara is only slightly smudged underneath her eyes, until she takes the backs of her hands against her cheeks in a vain attempt to rub the tears away.

She sniffs. "I didn't want to cry in front of you or anything. I'm supposed to be, like, intimidating you right now. Goddammit. It's just, Emma has been so worried that you heard what our conversation was about—it seems you didn't, so, yay—but like, you also know about the kissing, and that is just the freaking worst, you don't even know."

This is not computing in my brain as swiftly as I would like it to. "Yeeaaaahhhh...."

"Like, seriously," Asha continues, and now she's flapping her hands up and down. For why, I know not. "I think this is all some kind of weird game to her, and her freaking beard is probably cheating on her, but Emma won't even admit that he is totally a beard, and I like her so much, you don't even know. But Emma won't admit that she is gay. She just, like, kisses me sometimes? And I let her?"

I sit back down on the bed and just nod along.

"Anyways. Sorry. This is highly privileged information. Why am I telling you all this?"

I shrug. "I'm just rizzy like that, I guess."

Asha frowns. "If you tell anyone about any of this, you're dead."

"I figured pretty much, yeah." I reach behind me, one hand held out in front of me like I'm trying to remind a velociraptor just who raised it, and slide my phone out of my back pocket. "Wanna see me delete the photo?"

Asha sighs shakily, then runs her hands through her hair, pulling her thick curls into a ponytail before letting them drop around her shoulders. "Yes, please."

I'm surprised that she's being remotely polite, but I'm gonna take it. I lean forward and tilt my screen so that she can see me do it. "And ... delete. There."

She exhales. Her breath smells like cinnamon gum. "Thank you."

"No problem."

"No, really. Emma has been freaking out. You would not like to see Emma freaking out."

"The only time Emma has ever spoken to me was her freaking out on me over a corn lab in Honors Bio freshman year because I didn't count the corn right and I accidentally killed too many of the imaginary baby rabbits."

Asha blinks. "Oh, I'm sor—"

"Don't apologize, I thought it was funny." Wait, no, does that sound weird?

Hmm. I think Asha's expression is a little weirded out.

"Not because it was, like, funny to see her get upset or anything," I scramble to add. Nice recovery, O'Connor. "I just think Thomas Malthus is a really funny, kooky guy. Although I don't know that much about him. Just what his idea meant for the rabbits. I don't really remember his idea, but because there wasn't a lot of corn, the rabbits died. But also like, I forgot to count a bunch of corn, so did we allow nature to take its course, or am I God?"

"Okay, Riley. Answer me honestly: are you on drugs?"

"No?"

"Alright."

"Why?" I'm kind of panicking, just a little, because this is so definitely not the kind of first impression I want to be making on Asha Woods. Sophomore year, I used to do all the assignments for her when we were Algebra partners, just so she'd smile at me. Which sounds very pathetic, I know. But what makes it especially pathetic is that she definitely does not remember that it was me, so as far as she knows, I am a crazy, foot-obsessed lunatic who could potentially out her to the entire school. Not that I ever would. I'm not that much of a butthole.

But, Asha ... Asha smiles, and I swear, my heart swoops. Loop de loops, even. "No reason," she says. "No reason at all."

"Cool." Every muscle in my body unclenches. (Except for my buttcheeks. I am holding back some serious danger here, folks. I will not fart in Asha Woods' bedroom. I have some self-respect. Sometimes.)

"I really am sorry," I add, because I really am. "I didn't mean to invade your guys' privacy like that. Or be so creepy."

"I'm sorry I was such a bitch."

"Hey, it's okay. We all have bitchy days."

She gives me a quizzical look. Was that not a suitable response? I feel like that's the kind of response Leo would get away with. "Right," Asha says slowly.

"Am I still kidnapped?"

"No. I'm sorry for dragging you out of school. I heard you have a free period, so I figured it wouldn't hurt, and that there would be less people around to see me potentially claw your face off. Because, honestly, I was this close to doing just that. And even bathrooms aren't safe from gossip anymore, evidently."

"Heh, yeahhh. You right, you right."

Another quizzical look. Is this just her face? Seriously, is it her face, or is it me? Normally, I would have an emergency conference with Leo to discuss, but he's in class, and he most definitely can never find out about any of this. This is some government-level kind of top secret, highest level clearance shiz.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask her, because I would want someone to ask me at the very least.

She waves me off, her acrylic nails catching the inexplicably bright light from the window well. "I'm fine. Thanks for being so ... chill."

"No problem." I stand up. "I should probably be getting home soon. Unless...."

"Unless?" Her deep oak orbs (absolutely not, what even is that, ew) are focused on me. I try not to squirm under her gaze.

"Unless you want to talk gay shop?" I offer. "There aren't many out people at Montrose High. And you don't really talk to them. Ever. So, like, if Emma won't talk to you about gay things, and you need a gay friend, then"—I gesture down at myself—"gay."

I don't know what this Asha Woods™ expression means either. Probably surprise? I don't know. Her mouth doesn't really move when she emotes; it's all eyebrow for her. Weird. Interesting. But weird.

"You'd do that?"

"Yes." It's not like I have a bunch of gay friends either. Or a bunch of friends, period. Potential gay friends are rare. This is the kind of "blue moon" that they only feature in a Smurfs movie, because it's not just rare, but by and large imaginary. Somehow though, I'm not imagining any of this.

Unless someone beat me up in the bathroom over some pics and I'm currently bleeding out like Bonzo in Ender's Game. Also an option. I just like this one more.

"But why?" And there it is again, that blatant distrust. I can't say I fault her, but also, at the same time, it stings, just a little bit. "What's in it for you?"

"I don't have any gay girl friends," I admit. "It would be nice to have a girl friend in general. And, yes, sorry, to confirm, 'girl–space–friend,' don't worry. I have girl acquaintances, but most of the time, I think Leo is my only friend, so it's a little sad. And I can't talk to them about the big things. The lesbian things. Sapphic things in general."

The one eyebrow raised look seems more unimpressed than anything. "So you want a gay woman to be your emotional support animal?"

"In a symbiotic sort of way!" I insist. "Like oxpeckers and oxes."

"Oxpeckers will sometimes eat ox flesh if there aren't any bugs around."

Oh, cool. Seriously. Dope. "Wait, is that true? How do you know that? Why do you know that?"

She shrugs. "AP Bio presentation. Look, Riley, I'm sorry. You seem really chill and everything, but you sitting with me and my friends at lunch or something just doesn't seem like a goo—"

"Sit at your table at lunch?" I snort. I know myself well enough to know that that is sooo not an option for me. "Little Ms. Woods. No. Nononononono. Lunchtime is me time. I go lock myself in the old custodial closet and eat my lunch in peace. Sometimes I chat with Greg the Janitor, but I think he retired, so it's all me and my tuna fish sandwich now, the way God intended. Praise be. Hallelujah. Tuna."

Asha snorts, trying to cover up her nose with the back of her hand—but not before I notice that her nose crinkles up, quite cutely. "Ooookay. Well, tell you what. I'll give you my Snap, and you can text me about your ... gay things, okay?" She quickly adds, "As a thank you for not telling anyone. And deleting the photo."

"Shaweeeeet. Dopesauce." I immediately unlock my phone and open Snap. Makes sense that she'd want something a little (hypothetically, at least) more secure for gay conversations she doesn't want leaked. She types in her username onto my phone, then unlocks her own cell and accepts the request.

Her fingers look shaky. But she's smiling at me nevertheless, her nude gloss shining. "There," she says. "My Snap."

"Awesome, cool." And now, it is time that I depart, before I manage to embarrass myself any further. Just gotta get out of here without seeming too terribly awkward. "So, I'm gonna go, but it's been real, and it's been fun, but has it been real fun?"

"What?"

"Pee-Wee's Big Holiday? Came out 2016?"

"Connor, no."

I am not nailing this. "Maybe I should give you a movie education on top of a gay education. Nope. Nope, wait, nope. That sounds bad. Sexual."

"Don't worry about that department," Asha says, not sounding entirely enthused. Not as much as I would if I were to follow it up with, "I've got that covered," like she does.

I stare at her for a second. "Oh. Cool." Then I stand up and head for the door. "Okay, I will see you! Text me about gay things! Bye, gay friend!"

Yeah, I am so not nailing this. That is, unless you mean "nailing" as in, putting nails in my own coffin.

"Connor, hold up, you—"

"See you around. I will try not to take pics of your feet!" I'm halfway up the basement steps when Asha is there at the bottom of the staircase, her keys dangling from one long, slim finger.

"Want a ride back?" she offers, spinning them in a circle.

"Ohhhh." That's right, she drove here. Part of the kidnapping. "Yeah. Yes please."

She smiles, and I hate how pretty she is. This should not be allowed. This should be reserved for girls in movies. "Cool," she says, "let's boogie."

Okay, 'let's boogie' coming from Asha Woods' mouth? That is ... that is hot.

Gosh. Darnit.