It happened on New Year's Eve. We were at some party, I don't even remember where, and we were both drunk; Jesse more so than me. It was after midnight, the first hours of the new year, and we were sitting together on a sofa that smelled like spilled beer, alone because everybody else had left to go watch some kid attempt a keg stand upside down. Then, out of the blue, Jesse turned to me and said, "Your eyes are so blue." And just like that, he leaned over and kissed me. I was so surprised by his words— because nobody's ever said that my eyes are blue, they'd have to be blind to say something like that— that I didn't stop to think about what would happen if I kissed him back.

Of course, nothing did end up happening— at least, not until much later. Jesse was too drunk to remember and I was too smart to bring it up. There wasn't much to talk about anyways— we just made out for a few minutes, and then stopped after Jesse started muttering about how he needed another drink. Then he got up and left and I didn't see him for the rest of the party, until he threw up peach-flavored vodka in a potted poinsettia and I had to walk him home.

Kissing James isn't anything like kissing Jesse. Kissing Jesse was like breaking a promise, and forging a secret at the same time. It was the lingering taste of a stolen bottle of champagne and the adrenaline rush that you get when you know you're doing something you shouldn't, something forbidden. It was four years of wandering the city at midnight and exchanging notes in classrooms, four years of wondering if that look was more than a look, if that smile was more than a smile. Kissing Jesse was like crashing the Cadillac into a telephone pole. In that moment, it felt so fucking good to break the rules.

"Ronan?"

I draw away. "What's wrong?" I ask.

But James just shakes his head at me and points at something over my shoulder. That's when I realize it wasn't him who said my name. It was someone else.

I whirl around and my blood runs cold. Standing behind us is Jasper Sostenuto. His startled expression tells me he saw everything I didn't want anyone to see.

My brain simply doesn't know how to process the information my eyes are sending me, so it doesn't process anything at all. I feel myself start to go numb. See the world go dull around me. I hear myself demand, "What the hell?"

Jasper's eyes are as large as the lake. "I didn't mean to— I'm sorry—"

My body moves on its own accord. I lurch towards him, not sure what I'm planning on doing when I get there (yell at him? shake his shoulders? cry?). He doesn't try to dodge me. I think he's frozen to the spot.

"What did you see?" I ask. I don't like the way my voice sounds— angry and scared, like it did during my argument with Sabrina. I feel small, insignificant, useless; once again reminded that the bad things in life don't need my permission to happen. "Jasper, what did you see?"

"I don't— I don't know. I'm sorry, I really am—"

I glare at him with such ferocity that he takes a step back. "What the fuck are you even doing here? You're not supposed to be in this part of the woods."

"I was just trying to find you guys. Clancey's after the flag, and he wants your help bringing it back—"

"I don't care about the stupid flag!" I yell at him. The words reverb in my ear, like feedback from an electric guitar. My eye starts to twitch violently. "Just— just leave us alone!"

Jasper staggers backward. I see him fall before he actually does— first, his right foot hooks on a tree root, then his arms start to pinwheel, and finally, in almost theatrical slow-motion, he loses his fight against gravity and hits the ground, hard. I see his face turn pale as the bottom hem of his jeans catches in the dirt and rides up the side of his leg. See the horror dawn in his eyes as he finally realizes what's happened.

The reflection of something bright and shiny hits me in the face. I blink at him in bewilderment. "What the—"

Jasper scrambles to pull down the cuff of his jeans, but it's too late— I've already seen everything I needed to. The reflection. It came from something metallic.

"Your leg," I say slowly. "It's a prosthetic."

Jasper leaps to his feet. There's blood trickling down his elbow, but it doesn't seem like he notices. Or cares. "Please. You can't tell anybody. You can't."

The desperation in his voice reminds me of the desperation in my own, only moments earlier. It doesn't make me emphasize with him. It just makes me feel more terrible.

"How about this," I say. "If you don't tell anyone about me and James, I won't tell anyone about your fake leg. Deal?"

Jasper's mouth opens, then closes. Finally, he nods, a single tear tracking its way through the sweat on his cheeks. He doesn't say anything else to me. Just dashes away into the woods in the same direction he came.

I grind my molars together. There's an anger inside me that I haven't felt in weeks, as if my interaction with Jasper struck a match in my gut and lit up all the dynamite that's been piling up in there. I wish I wasn't this angry. I hate losing control of my feelings. But that's the thing about anger— it doesn't ask for your opinion; it just takes the reins.

I pivot around slowly. Just like I expected, James is standing behind me, his arms folded firmly across his chest. Outwardly, he doesn't seem upset with me, but I can see his dark eyes crackling in the sunlight.

"You can be a really shitty person sometimes, Ronan," he says.

"Yeah," I reply. I'd scoff at him if we hadn't been kissing only moments earlier. "There's a reason I got sent to this camp."

A shadow crosses over his face. "Do you want to know why I got sent to this camp? I know you've been dying to hear my tragic backstory. Well, here it is. I used to go to a private all-boys school for music. Used to, because I was recently expelled. For kissing a boy in one of the practice rooms. According to my teachers, I'm a prodigy at the guitar, but that didn't stop them from kicking me out. Apparently, being gay outweighs my musical talents." He sucks in a breath, his chest shaking with the effort. "That's why my parents didn't want to drive me to Lightlake. They told me that until I learned how to control myself, I could walk. So I walked."

It feels like all the moisture has been sucked out of the air. I try to lick my lips, but my mouth has gone dry as bone. "I'm sorry, James. I didn't know."

"No, you didn't. And do you know why? It's because you only care about yourself."

"That's not—"

James shakes his head at me. "I should've known better. I should've known that you really were untouchable." And, with those final words, he turns his back on me and storms into the woods.