Michael lunges at me, his hands gripping my shirt as he gives me a shake.

"Go to hell." I shove him back, breaking his grip.

One of the girls yelps as he bumps into her.

DeMarco jumps out of the way as Michael lunges at me.

"Boys!" Dr. Taylor says, stepping between us.

I force my feet to stop and wrangle my clenched fist into my side. My chest heaves with the effort and my teeth grind together. I can hear my heart thudding in my ears, almost drowning out my thoughts. I'd been ready to punch Michael in his famous schnoz. But hitting a teacher? No way.

Michael, though, barrels into Dr. Taylor's outstretched hand.

"Enough!" Dr. Taylor shouts. "I will not tolerate this in my classroom."

Michael huffs and exhales a wet breath.

"Sit." Dr. Taylor points to two chairs on opposite sides of the room.

I sit in mine.

"Jamie," Dr. Taylor starts in on what I know will be a very long lecture. "You seem to have a problem respecting the decisions of your peers."

"They make bad deci-" I start, but he cuts me off.

"It isn't your place to judge others, you were sup-"

I jump in. "They're the ones being judge and jury." I point at Michael first then include the others with a sweep of my arm.

"Jamie," Dr. Taylor warns.

But I continue, "They were the ones censoring Gumshoe, cutting stuff they didn't agree with."

"Only because we won't get funding next year because of his stupid-ass move!" Michael shouts.

"Language, Michael," Dr. Taylor says, his attention off of me.

"Who cares about next year if Gumshoe doesn't reflect the diversity in our school?" I ask. "Doesn't tell our story, doesn't represent us? It's Lincoln High's literary magazine, not yours."

Dr. Taylor looks at me, listens.

"What about the awards?" Lia asks.

"I think Challis's story will help us win awards," I say, hoping it's true.

"Yeah," Holland says. "A gay graphic short? We will so stand out in the crowd!"

"You want to keep it in?" Lia asks as if the words taste rancid.

"Yes," Holland says.

DeMarco nods before saying, "Me too."

"What?" Michael asks.

"I vote we keep it," DeMarco says.

"But it's not up for a vote!" Michael says. "We already voted on it. And it lost!"

All heads turn to Dr. Taylor, as if he'll cast the final decision.

"The comic is in the magazines. We could take them all out, as Jamie demonstrated. Or we could sell them as is," Dr. Taylor reasons.

"But-" Michael and Lia protest in unison.

"Should we take another vote?" Dr. Taylor asks us.

"But, Dr. Taylor," Michael says, much calmer now. "We shouldn't change our minds because one person can't respect his peers or follow simple instructions. That's not fair."

"Okay, Michael. I understand that we should be fair," Dr. Taylor says. "So let me talk to Principal Chambers before we proceed. I don't want to step on anyone's toes by acting too quickly. Okay?"

Michael nods, satisfied. And as if the principal will, obviously, be on his side.

The classroom falls silent, as we each stew in our own juices. Michael and Lia look at me as if I am the devil incarnate.

I can't sit any longer. Not with them looking at me like that-like I'm a sinner of the worst kind and so beyond stupid that I can't follow simple instructions. I grab a stack of magazines from the box and stomp out of the room.

I am so steamed, I can't even think straight. With an armload of Gumshoes and a burning desire to be right, I march out of Dr. Taylor's room and up one flight of stairs. I hear a chorus of laughter coming from room 302. I take one last look at the pink poster-the one that welcomes everyone. I inhale a deep breath and exhale slowly.

Then I step inside.

A cluster of students, mostly girls, and a few sophomore guys are sitting on desks and eating potato chips. The sophomore in a tie-dye tee sees me first.

Then they all stop laughing and look at me.

I hear my own heartbeat, feel a flutter of panic.

Surprise registers on Challis's face for a second before she smiles.

It's Eden who breaks the silence with an Ann Mariestyle squeal. She jumps up and runs over-her arms out. Then she's hugging me, stack of Gumshoes and all.

And I know what she's thinking. She's thinking I'm coming out. Okay, so I didn't exactly plan it that way, but, well. Heck. It's not like they care.

"You're squishing me," I say.

Eden lets go, looks up at me, and then says, "Hey, everyone, this is Jamie Peterson!" She drags me over to where the food is spread out on a desk then starts in on introductions: "Juliet, Wesley, Alex, Madison, Stephanie, Hunter, Sam, and you know us." She points to herself and Challis.

"Welcome," Challis says. "You picked a great day to show up. We've got food."

I hear a little sarcasm in her voice, get that this is the last possible GSA meeting of the year, as well as the last possible one of my high school career. It's as if I'm three years late for the party.

The sophomore in tie-dye reaches over and offers his hand. "I'm Wesley."

I shake it. He's got a nice grip. And dimples. I could get used to dimples.

"We pride ourselves in being the most welcoming club on campus," Challis says. "Can I pour you a soda?"

"Um," I say, feeling a little dazed by all the attention. Then I remember why I am here. It's not to flirt with sophomores. It's to make an announcement. "No, thanks."

Challis looks hurt.

Eden looks confused.

"I can't stay," I blurt. "I just wanted to ask you guys for some support." I pass out copies of Gumshoe.

Challis flips to the middle, "You did it!" she shouts as she leaps off the desk where she was sitting. "You actually put my story in!"

Then she's hugging me, and we're bouncing up and down.

Soon everyone is thumbing through a copy, looking for Challis's graphic short. They fall quiet as they start to read.

"It's ber-maginificent-amazing," Eden tells everyone.

When he's done reading, Wesley looks up at me. "What can we do?"

"Buy a copy," I answer. "Or five. Let the administration know that you appreciate diversity in our school's literary magazine."

"Yeah," Challis chimes in. "My story was rejected because it had gay characters, but Jamie here snuck it in under the radar-"

"They rejected this?" Wesley asks. "Why?"

"Some of the students didn't want to lose funding for next year."

"Give me four copies," he says, and pulls a twenty from his wallet.

THIRTY-FIVE.

It doesn't take long for the art-geek girls to start talking about Gumshoe. The next morning magazines are being passed around art class. Ms. Maude even threatens to take Eden's away if she doesn't stop reading instead of working. Part of me hopes the gossip will build buzz and sell more magazines as soon as Dr. Taylor and Principal Chambers make a decision-because nothing would prove me right more than selling tons of copies. And part of me wishes the buzz would die down before Mason hears it.

In government, we're reviewing a chapter when Mr. Purdy gets a call. He listens then announces, "James, your presence is requested in Principal Chambers's office."

I let my head fall into my hands. This is it. I'm in a shipload of trouble, because A) someone told the principal I knew who made Abe into a dick and I'll have to narc not only on the Redneck, but on all my friends, too; B) Dr. Taylor told the principal I hijacked Gumshoe, took it for a joyride, and sold it to my classmates like black-market contraband; or C) I published a gay comic and, in a matter of hours, my best friend will know I'm as queer as a three-dollar bill and forgot to mention it.

Chambers's chambers, here I come, guilty of D) all of the above.

"Mr. Peterson?" Purdy asks. "I said your pre-"

I jolt upright out of my thoughts. I put one hand on my diaphragm and try to stop it from jumping up and down. The fluttering is making me queasy. I grab my things with my other hand and stand, my chair screeching across the floor.

Mason turns around.

I find his gaze. Lock my eyes on his as I walk up the aisle, followed by a chorus of low "oohs" coming from the back of the room.

"You okay?" Mason whispers when I reach his desk.

I nod in an attempt to say that I am okay-even though I'm not-and the motion sends the room into orbit around me. I steady myself on the nearest stable object, Mason's desk.

His eyes fill up with concern, dark as molasses and as sweet as hot chocolate. I swallow, practically basking in his gaze as it warms my throat, my chest, my heart.

Then he smiles-not an all-out grin, but a genuine, encouraging one. One that says, You can do this, Jamie. And I'll be here for you.

My heart feels too big and my lungs too small, and I say, "I love you, man."

Only it didn't sound Brodie Hamilton cool. My voice comes out quiet, and not at all sarcastic-as if I mean it.

My face flames. And I leave the room before my clothes ignite and my ego spontaneously combusts.

I'm halfway down the hall before reality hits me. If I walk into the office with my heart racing, breathing fast, and turning green under a feverish blush, there's no way I'm going to pass a lie detector test. I stop in the restroom and splash my face with water. I dry it with the hem of my shirt while I hold my breath. When I'm done, I exhale slowly. I run my fingers through my hair so it looks just-right messy. Then I tuck in my shirt in an attempt to look respectable.

I walk into the office and tell the secretary my name.

"I believe Principal Chambers is expecting you. Third door on the left."

The dreaded Chambers's chambers.

I walk down the short, narrow hall, hoping I can catch a glimpse inside before I have to enter. The blinds on the glass part of the door are down, but the door is open a crack. I'm about to knock when I hear a familiar voice.

My mom's.

"Come in," Principal Chambers calls.

I push the door open and force myself to smile. It doesn't work.

"Hi, honey," Mom says.

"Jamie," Dr. Taylor says with a nod. He has several copies of Gumshoe on his lap.

"Hi," I squeak. There's one empty chair and I sit. I press my fingertips together as if in prayer, and then pinch them between my knees.

"We were just discussing your work with the school literary magazine," Principal Chambers informs me, as if I hadn't guessed. "It appears as if you published a submission without the other staff members' consent?"