who was begging me to come home with him.
âIf I say yes, how long before the next time you humiliate me to amuse your friends?â
âIt wonât be like that.â
âI want to believe you. . . .â
âSpace Boy, you were my first.â His voice trembled. I hadnât known, which made it worse.
I wanted to stay angry, but this Marcus would have invited me to his party. He would have introduced me to his friends. This was the most real heâd ever been, but it wouldnât last. The moment we walked out of the classroom, his cocksure veneer, the spit and polish, would return. I wasnât going to spend my last days on Earth as the butt of his jokes. I may not be sure I want to live, but Iâm sure I donât want to live like that.
âMarcus, I canât.â
His armor snapped into place. The vulnerable boy I might have said yes to disappeared, and Iâm not sure Iâll ever see him again. âIâm not surprised Jesse hanged himself. Iâm just surprised he didnât do it sooner.â Marcus shoved me against the wall as he stormed out.
  â¢Â  â¢Â  â¢Â Â
I spent my lunch sitting outside the library, trying to comprehend how my life had gotten so fucked up. First my father left, then Jesse. Neither Charlie nor Marcus told me anything I hadnât already considered.
It has been 268 days since I got the phone call from Mrs. Franklin telling me Jesse committed suicide. He left no note, gave no explanation, but I still know it was my fault. He killed himself because of me. Because I loved him too much or not enough. I donât know why; all I know is that it was my fault.
Charlieâs and Marcusâs words festered in me, and by the time I got to PE, I wanted to hurt someone, anyone. To make them feel how I felt. Narrow rows of lockers separated by benches, fellow students changing into their gym clothes, and the pungent odor of sweat and body spray made my skin itch. I wanted to get dressed for class and get out as quickly as possible.
I shouldered past a couple of kids, and opened my gym locker. Nickels poured out. There had to be hundreds of dollars worth of them spilling to the floor, and I just stared as they fell.
Adrian Morse stood a few feet away by the water fountain with Gary Neuman, Chris Weller, and Dean Gold, laughing his ass off. It must have taken them at least an hour to get all those nickels into my locker, all for a momentâs cheap laugh.
The sound in my ears narrowed until all I could hear was that psychotic cackle. I felt something inside me break in that moment. It wasnât just what had happened that day; it was as if all the preceding days, all the hate Iâd been hoarding and the guilt Iâd buried, erupted, breaking my ability to contain them any longer. I ran toward Adrian and launched myself at him, not caring if he beat the crap out of me. I swung wildly, a berserker bloodlust overriding my rational mind. I screamed at him, but canât remember what I said.
Adrian tried to protect his face, but my fist connected with something solid, and that only made me fight harder. It seemed like hours but was probably only seconds before he kneed me in the crotch, knocking the breath out of me. I fell to the ground, and he kicked me, but I roared back and tackled him, slamming his back against the lockers, pounding him with my fists. I was beyond pain, beyond all reason. I didnât care about anything. Not me, not Jesse, not Marcus. The world was ending, and there were no more consequences. I think I was going to kill him.
Coach Raskin wedged himself between us, yelling at us to break it up, and wrestled me away from Adrian. I struggled to free myself from his powerful grip, but Coach was too strong for me. I shook myself loose and glared at Adrian, sprawled on the locker room floor. Blood ran from his nose, and I smiled. I spit at his feet and
âIf I say yes, how long before the next time you humiliate me to amuse your friends?â
âIt wonât be like that.â
âI want to believe you. . . .â
âSpace Boy, you were my first.â His voice trembled. I hadnât known, which made it worse.
I wanted to stay angry, but this Marcus would have invited me to his party. He would have introduced me to his friends. This was the most real heâd ever been, but it wouldnât last. The moment we walked out of the classroom, his cocksure veneer, the spit and polish, would return. I wasnât going to spend my last days on Earth as the butt of his jokes. I may not be sure I want to live, but Iâm sure I donât want to live like that.
âMarcus, I canât.â
His armor snapped into place. The vulnerable boy I might have said yes to disappeared, and Iâm not sure Iâll ever see him again. âIâm not surprised Jesse hanged himself. Iâm just surprised he didnât do it sooner.â Marcus shoved me against the wall as he stormed out.
  â¢Â  â¢Â  â¢Â Â
I spent my lunch sitting outside the library, trying to comprehend how my life had gotten so fucked up. First my father left, then Jesse. Neither Charlie nor Marcus told me anything I hadnât already considered.
It has been 268 days since I got the phone call from Mrs. Franklin telling me Jesse committed suicide. He left no note, gave no explanation, but I still know it was my fault. He killed himself because of me. Because I loved him too much or not enough. I donât know why; all I know is that it was my fault.
Charlieâs and Marcusâs words festered in me, and by the time I got to PE, I wanted to hurt someone, anyone. To make them feel how I felt. Narrow rows of lockers separated by benches, fellow students changing into their gym clothes, and the pungent odor of sweat and body spray made my skin itch. I wanted to get dressed for class and get out as quickly as possible.
I shouldered past a couple of kids, and opened my gym locker. Nickels poured out. There had to be hundreds of dollars worth of them spilling to the floor, and I just stared as they fell.
Adrian Morse stood a few feet away by the water fountain with Gary Neuman, Chris Weller, and Dean Gold, laughing his ass off. It must have taken them at least an hour to get all those nickels into my locker, all for a momentâs cheap laugh.
The sound in my ears narrowed until all I could hear was that psychotic cackle. I felt something inside me break in that moment. It wasnât just what had happened that day; it was as if all the preceding days, all the hate Iâd been hoarding and the guilt Iâd buried, erupted, breaking my ability to contain them any longer. I ran toward Adrian and launched myself at him, not caring if he beat the crap out of me. I swung wildly, a berserker bloodlust overriding my rational mind. I screamed at him, but canât remember what I said.
Adrian tried to protect his face, but my fist connected with something solid, and that only made me fight harder. It seemed like hours but was probably only seconds before he kneed me in the crotch, knocking the breath out of me. I fell to the ground, and he kicked me, but I roared back and tackled him, slamming his back against the lockers, pounding him with my fists. I was beyond pain, beyond all reason. I didnât care about anything. Not me, not Jesse, not Marcus. The world was ending, and there were no more consequences. I think I was going to kill him.
Coach Raskin wedged himself between us, yelling at us to break it up, and wrestled me away from Adrian. I struggled to free myself from his powerful grip, but Coach was too strong for me. I shook myself loose and glared at Adrian, sprawled on the locker room floor. Blood ran from his nose, and I smiled. I spit at his feet and
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