He thinks about saying he needs to go over to a classmate’s house to do a group project—but then his parents will want to see the project.

  Late into Sunday night, he keeps himself awake, trying to think of another way.

  Right before he falls asleep, he wonders if maybe he’s found one. When he wakes up, it’s still there. It’s a long shot, but as he grows more and more certain that whatever he has with Avery is in peril, he figures any shot is worth taking.

  * * *

  —

  Mr. Castor looks surprised to see Ryan waiting at his office door so early on Monday morning.

  He looks even more surprised when Ryan asks, “Do you think you could give me a fake detention?”

  Ryan has never been in a teacher’s office like this. He has never asked for a favor from a teacher or anyone else at school.

  Mr. Castor ushers him into the office and closes the door. He puts his coffee down on his desk, clears some papers off a chair, and motions for Ryan to sit.

  Awkwardly, Ryan does so. The hallway was empty, but already he feels like everyone saw him come in here to ask for help.

  Mr. Castor doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t even ask what “fake detention” means. Instead he asks, “What’s going on, Ryan?”

  Ryan is sure Mr. Castor has to know that he’s gay; all his teachers seem to know. But Ryan has always stubbornly refused to say it to any of them, to invite them into that part of himself.

  Now, though, Ryan finds himself telling Mr. Castor about Avery, about how Avery drove all the way to Kindling to go to a dance that very few kids from Kindling attended. He tells Mr. Castor about the snow day, about how amazing it was…and then he tells him about coming home after, what a comedown that was, followed by his parents’ uncompromising and apparently unending punishment.

  “So you thought…”

  “I thought that if you emailed them and said I had detention, then Avery could come here and I could see him and save everything from falling apart.”

  It sounds so foolish when he says it out loud. Far too much to ask. If Mr. Castor isn’t going to laugh at him, somehow the walls of the school will.

  After taking a sip of his coffee and thinking about it for a second, Mr. Castor says, “Do you realize there’s a flaw in your plan?”

  “I’m sorry,” Ryan says. “I never should have asked you—”

  “No,” Mr. Castor interrupts. “It’s not that. It’s that if I were your parents and I got a notice saying that you had earned a detention, I would increase your punishment, not ignore it. You might get your afternoon with Avery, but it might be months before you get another chance.”

  It’s so obvious. If Mr. Castor wasn’t sitting right there, Ryan would punch himself in the face. For real.

  Mr. Castor goes on. “Detention is not the answer, Ryan. Forensics, however, might be.”

  Ryan doesn’t follow. “Forensics?”

  “Speech and debate tournaments.”

  Ryan still doesn’t get it. “I don’t do that,” he says.

  Mr. Castor leads him gently. “I think it might be time for you to start. We meet on Thursdays after school. You might even have to go to a tournament this Thursday.”

  “But I don’t—oh. Oh.”

  Mr. Castor smiles and lifts his coffee cup in a toast.

  “Welcome to the team, Ryan.”

  * * *

  —

  Thursday is the one day Avery doesn’t have to be at play practice and Ryan doesn’t have to be at work. There is no way Mr. Castor could have known this. It just happens to be the case.

  * * *

  —

  Ryan’s parents do not fully subscribe to his sudden interest in performative oration. But the email that Mr. Castor sent them appears to be legitimate, requesting Ryan’s presence in a match over an hour away. Ryan explains that a bad flu has knocked a number of the ordinary members out of contention, causing Mr. Castor to pull deep from the bench.

  “But you don’t like speaking,” Ryan’s mother says, confounded.

  “He does, however, like to argue,” Ryan’s father counters, satisfied with his own observation.

  Permission is granted.

  * * *

  —

  Ryan messages Avery later that night to tell him the news.

  Mercifully, Avery is still free on Thursday.

  They make plans to meet somewhere halfway between their towns. Their sixth date.

  Ryan believes Avery is genuinely excited to meet again. But still, the electronic distance is there, the experience of words without voice, smiles without face. Ryan finds himself having to visualize the trail: My thoughts turn into words; the words go from my mind to my fingertips; my fingers touch the keys and the letters appear on the screen and split off into waves; the waves travel through my room to the wi-fi; they are converted into a different kind of wave that pulses through a network of wires that runs from my room to his; when the words get to his room, they leap from the wires, back into the air; his computer catches them and relays them to his eyes; his eyes take them in, and send them to his brain, where they go back from words into thoughts. In this way, he can imagine them still connected. In this way, the speed of words can overcome the pain of distance.

  Three days. He only has to hang on for three more days.

  * * *

  —

  He wants to see his Aunt Caitlyn, who’s met Avery and liked Avery and will understand Ryan’s desire to be with Avery. She is the one person in his life who will be able to explain that the closer you get to a person, the more you leave behind with them when you have to be apart; the feeling of reunion that comes when you are back together is not only a reunion with the person you love, but also a reunion with the part of yourself you left behind. If the love is worth its weight, then the part you’ve missed is one of your better, kinder, happier parts. Which is why you feel better, kinder, and happier when you’re together again.

  Maybe this is why Ryan’s parents have told him he can’t go see her. They know Aunt Caitlyn will be sympathetic—in their mind, too sympathetic. He is allowed to call her exactly once, on Tuesday evening, because on Wednesday nights he often goes over to her house to watch a show they both like featuring drag queens and crime fighting. This Wednesday, she’ll have to record it for them to watch whenever his sentence is over.

  “I’m so sorry,” Aunt Caitlin says when he calls to cancel.

  “It’s okay,” Ryan tells her. There isn’t much else he can say; he’s on the kitchen phone, and his parents are sitting right there.

  “You holding up?”

  “Yup.”

  Aunt Caitlin sighs. “I swear, if this lasts much longer, I’ll spring you myself.”

  Ryan wants nothing more than that.

  His mother coughs, motions that it’s time to hang up. This isn’t supposed to be a social call.

  “I gotta go,” he tells his aunt.

  “The water is wide, but your boat will come,” she assures him. “And I have a feeling it will hold another passenger.”

  Ryan smiles, but not so much that his parents will see it. He hides most of it with the receiver as he says his goodbye.

  * * *

  —

  Wednesday night doesn’t feel like a night at all—it feels like a night before. He wants to get some sleep, but every time he comes close, excitement sings in his ear or anxiety peels open his eyes. He shifts positions, but fear is there to make his back ache, and when he shifts again, the intensity of his longing steals the covers away. When he pulls them back, the risk of it all makes him overheat.

  I’m not wrong to want this, he keeps repeating to himself.

  His heartbeat isn’t sure it agrees.

  * * *

  —

  At breakfast the next morning, his parents ask about his truck.

  “I assume you’ll be taking a bus to the tournament,” his father says. “So you’ll just leave your truck in the high school parking lot.”

  “Mmm hm,” Ryan answers, cereal in his mouth.

  But why is his father asking? To test him about how a forensic team travels? Or are his parents going to drive by the high school parking lot while he’s away?

  He’s been planning to take his truck to meet Avery. Now he feels he can’t. Just in case.

  * * *

  —

  Once again, he is waiting for Mr. Castor when he arrives at his office before the morning bell.

  “Is there a bus?” Ryan asks his teacher. “If there is, I think I need to come.”

  Mr. Castor looks amused. “Is this your way of officially joining the team?”

  “I guess it is,” Ryan says. “As long as I can sneak away.”

  * * *

  —

  Neither Ryan nor Avery has ever been to Bluff Lake, where the tournament is being held. It’s actually closer to Avery than Kindling, but still more than halfway.

  I did some research, Avery texts Ryan over lunch. There’s a donut shop.

  * * *

  —

  Before he boards the bus, Ryan lets Alicia know what he’s doing.

  “You realize I could have just driven you, right?” she points out.

  But Ryan doesn’t want her to have to be his waiting chauffeur. He knows she’d be willing. But he also wants this relationship with Avery to be something that doesn’t depend on everyone else. He wants to do at least part of it himself.

  He tries to explain this to Alicia. She, in turn, tries to understand.

  * * *

  —

  Ryan has no idea if he knows anyone on the forensics team. It’s not something he’s ever paid any attention to.

  They’re taking a bus like all the other buses in front of the school; Ryan would have been confused if Mr. Castor hadn’t been standing by the correct bus’s door.

  “Remember,” Mr. Castor says when he walks over, “if anyone asks, you’re coming for a trial run, to see how it works before starting next week.”

  Ryan nods. “Got it.”

  “And then you start next week.”

  Ryan nods again and gets on the bus.

  There aren’t that many kids inside, and most of the faces are familiar. These are the honors track kids, and a lot of them are what Alicia would call “not bad.” (As in: “Callie’s a bitch, but Rebecca’s not bad.”) With a slight heart pound, he sees that Kim Davis is on the bus; her mom is friendly with his mom, and it is entirely possible that this bus ride could come up in their conversation at some point. Base, covered.

  Ryan sees that Ben Samuels has taken a seat a little farther back than the rest of the team, but still a few rows from the actual end of the bus. Ryan takes the seat across from him.

  Ben looks up from his phone for a second and asks, “Are you on the right bus?” It isn’t sarcastic. He genuinely thinks Ryan has walked onto the wrong bus.

  Ryan repeats the explanation that Mr. Castor provided him.

  “Oh. Okay,” Ben Samuels says. Then he goes back to his phone, and Ryan is invisible again.

  It doesn’t even occur to Ryan to wish there were someone on the bus he could turn to and say, Hey, I’m here because I’m heading on a sixth date with this boy who may or may not be my boyfriend. These are his classmates, but they know him about as well as a random group of people on a bus would. And they are even less curious than strangers on a bus.

  * * *

  —

  When they get to the school where the tournament is being held, Mr. Castor receives a sheet that informs them which forensic categories are in which room. He tells the other students where to go, and tells Ryan in front of everyone else to stay with him to watch the extemporaneous competition. Their team disperses, and when they are out of view, Mr. Castor asks Ryan to come with him for one round. Then he can have an hour outside, returning with plenty of time before the bus heads back.

  Ryan has no idea what extemporaneous speaking is, and even after he and Mr. Castor watch the first two contestants, he isn’t that much more clued in. Basically, it looks like the judges spring a topic on you and you have about a minute to figure out what to say about it. The boy and girl at the front of the room seem into it, but it comes across to Ryan as the worst pop quiz ever.

  After sitting through the girl ranting about the Electoral College and the boy talking about the merits of democratic socialism, Ryan is starting to feel like he’s being punished. Mr. Castor looks at him, releases a snort of laughter, and says, “Okay, you can go. Just remember—one hour. And make sure your phone is on, because I’ll call you if anything changes.”

  Ryan doesn’t have to be told twice. He jumps out of his seat, out of the room, out of the school. He checks his messages—nothing from Avery. He assumes this means Avery is still driving.

  He summons his maps app and makes his way to the donut shop.

  * * *

  —

  Driving into Bluff Lake, he could see it was just like anywhere else, with big-box stores perched among stripped-out strip malls, lonely gas stations, and overbright fast-food establishments. The downtown area also looks a lot like anywhere else, with a few shops and far fewer people. The two clothing stores display the kind of sweaters and pants your great-aunt would give you for Christmas and you’d never wear. The shoe store is very proud that it has some Crocs in stock. The pizza place is called Giuseppe’s, but it’s unclear whether there is really a Giuseppe or if someone just thought that’s what a pizza place should be called. There isn’t a Starbucks in sight, though there was one on the highway, drive-through.

  In this context, the donut place is an exclamation point. The glass cases can’t contain all the frosting and sprinkles—versions of them dance across the brightly colored walls as well. The music coming from the speakers is also super sweet, and the tables are much more excitably busy than anywhere else Ryan has seen in town. He imagines the availability of coffee has something to do with this, because while a few customers have donuts in front of them, almost all of them have coffee at hand.

  Ryan can see some people look at him when he comes in—he can’t tell whether it’s because he’s a stranger or because he has blue hair. (It’s both.) The idea of sitting at the table without coffee or a donut, waiting for Avery, feels weird, so he buys a large coffee and holds out on the donut, to justify taking up the space before getting to the good part with Avery.

  Once he sits down, he checks his phone again. Still no word. The traitorous chamber of his proverbial heart is already pumping out the panic that Avery isn’t coming, that Ryan is going to be stood up. It gets so bad that Ryan ventures a You near? text. The phone tells him it’s received—but that’s all it tells him.

  The uncharted territory is starting to dim in the low light of his thoughts. He is staying still, but the horizon is receding.

  He is so focused on his phone, on waiting for those three dots of response, that he doesn’t even see Avery until Avery is at the table.

  “This seat taken?” Avery asks. Ryan looks up and there he is, with his pink hair and mischievous grin.

  What is it like to see Avery again? It’s like life has suddenly elevated to a higher level, and the present is a much better place than it was a second ago.

  Ryan is smiling now, too, but it isn’t enough. He gets out of his seat and knows he has to walk the delicate path between not enough and too much. As is often the case with that path, the answer is to put his arms around Avery, to pull him close, to linger in each other’s arms a beat or two longer than friends would, to send the message that even though they aren’t going to kiss in front of all these strangers, this hug is a kiss in its way.

  “I’ve missed you,” they both say at the same time, pulling apart so Avery can take off his coat and put it on the back of his chair.

  Then Avery says, “Donuts.”

  And Ryan agrees, “Donuts.”

  Some of the options at the counter sound divine and others feel unholy. Avery says he doesn’t see anything wrong with putting bacon on a donut; Ryan, who is fine with bacon in most other instances, says he’s going to stick to raspberry, and maybe one topped with Fruity Pebbles.

  They order two donuts each, and instead of coffee, Avery gets a glass of milk. Then they weave through the tables and sit back down at their own.

  If life elevates to a higher level when your maybe-boyfriend steps into the room, there is also the dip that comes shortly after, when life threatens to drop back down to the mundane world you’ve been elevated from. Ryan looks at Avery across the table and doesn’t think there is anything he can say that will be worthy of these first minutes back together. He can’t just ask about the drive. He can’t bring up that they only have an hour. He can’t say how much he missed Avery, because he’s already said that. He can’t blurt out the contents of his heart, because they haven’t sorted themselves into a sharable display. So in the middle of his happiness, there is a strong pinch of despair.

  Avery shifts his chair forward so their knees are touching. He presses, and Ryan presses back.

  That is all it takes to dispel the despair.

  Contact.

  “Thank you for coming all this way,” Ryan says.

  “Thank you for joining forensics in order to be with me,” Avery replies. “Plus, you drove longer for our last date. And have since been imprisoned for it.”

  Ryan makes a show of looking out the window. “I want another storm to come,” he says, moving his hand across the table so their pinkies can flirt. “I want us to be stranded here.”