Padma, it turns out, is DTF after all.

"Thank God," she says, as Marcus fumbles with the buttons of her top. "I was starting to think you were … like, asexual. Not that there's anything wrong with that."

Marcus pauses, turning that over in his mind, remembering the numbness of the antidepressants. "Really? And you were okay with it?"

Padma shrugs, finishes taking off her own top, starts working on his t-shirt. "You're only a sophomore. It's not like we were going to be together forever."

"Right."

"And it's not like we're serious or exclusive or anything …"

Marcus senses a trap there, sidesteps it by kissing her neck. And pretending he's kissing Ginny's neck.

Padma is experienced. She knows what she likes, and she's not afraid to show him, if necessary. It's a relief. It's actually pretty hot. He's got a better idea what he's doing now. The sex is better, but it's not the same as being with Ginny. It's more like … a good workout.

Except, afterwards, Padma lies in his arms and says: "You know, I really do like you. A lot."

Marcus blinks. This is uncharted territory. It's not what their … thing … has ever been about. It's mostly been about, well, Instagram. "I like you too," he says a little stiffly.

Padma changes the subject. "I have band practice tomorrow night. You want to come with?"

"Sorry," he says. "You know I'm not really into the whole … Hunter bro-clique."

That was true even before Hunter started dating Ginny. Besides, Ginny herself might be there.

"Ok," she says lightly. "Do you want to do something this weekend?"

"Maybe. Text me tomorrow?"

Padma nods. She gets up and starts getting dressed. She seems like she's about to say something else, but then she just smiles over at him. "I'm glad we finally did this this," she says.

"Me too," Marcus says. It's mostly a lie.

Sleeping with Padma, in fact, has the opposite effect of what he'd hoped. Rather than getting Ginny out of his head, it's made him think about her even more. Especially at night, especially when he's listening to old emo music and painting.

Or when he's in the shower.

Marcus hears Ginny is working at the Blue Farm Cafe. He stops by to get an iced coffee and see how she reacts.

Not great, is how. Actively hostile would be another way to put it. She makes a crack about Venmo. She stares more ice daggers at him. He finally leaves.

He texts Padma. "What are you doing for the next 30 minutes?"

"You," she replies.

So that's that.

Sophomore Sleepover: AKA hell on earth.

"None of my friends will be there," he tries telling his mom. More than once.

But as usual, he's drowned out by whatever extremely loud drama Max has going on, whatever it is that is literally going to kill her if she doesn't get her way.

As usual, she gets her way.

He gives up and goes to the damned thing. He takes the first chance he can to duck out and find a quiet place to be alone, which is the gym showers.

He hates crowds.

He can hear the distant music thumping. He pulls out a joint. He already knows the smoke detectors don't work in this part of the building. He gets a little high, and just lets his mind wander. He wonders vaguely if he can just sneak out of the building and go home, but they'll probably do some kind of head count at the end of the night and he doesn't want his mom to worry.

Although if she really worried about me, he muses, she wouldn't have made me come to this.

If his life was a family sitcom—and sometimes he thinks it is, that maybe he's living inside a television show—Maxine would be the breakout star. He himself would be the sulky brother who came out of his room once per episode, made some sarcastic observation, then faded into the background of Maxine's much more interesting A-plot.

So he plays his role there, too. Maxine happily eats up most of his parents' attention, especially his mother's. It's always been like that.

Dad tries to make sure to give Marcus some attention, because Dad can see what's up. But Dad's good-natured, laid-back, a little too chill about everything, and even when they have serious conversations, Dad usually tries to joke Marcus out of his bad mood.

But to be fair—Dad was the one who noticed when things got really bad. Dad was the one who made the therapy appointments. And made Marcus go to them.

This isn't going to help, Marcus had signed to him, in the car on the way to the first one.

Oh, you're psychic? Dad replied. That's pretty cool. Can you tell me where I should invest my 401(k)?

Don't sign and drive, Marcus retorted sulkily.

Don't be ableist, Dad signed. It's not like I'm reciting Shakespeare. Although I can if you want …

No thanks! Marcus replied.

But the therapy had helped him through the void of grief he'd been trapped in. And it had helped him get some things straightened out in his head, like the fact that even though Maxine grabbed the spotlight, grabbed all their parents' attention, and was generally an enormous pain in Marcus's ass, it didn't mean he didn't love her. When he didn't want to throttle her.

Maxine couldn't help that she was hype as fuck, like all the time. And even though she acted like she and her little group of friends were too cool for him, it was understood between the two of them privately—in an unspoken, twin kind of way—that it was an act, a joke, a comedy bit she was doing. That they were playing their roles in the sitcom that was their family.

And it was understood that they were there for each other, if it really came down to it. That they had each other's backs.

He's thinking about this stuff when suddenly Ginny Miller rounds the corner.

"Hey," he says, with surprise, on an exhalation of smoke.

Ginny gives him some grief for lurking in the showers. He teases her back. It's nice. She's actually speaking to him again. She even splashes him.

He jokes about her hair—because something she doesn't like has obviously happened to it—and after he says it he's suddenly worried that he's crossed some kind of line.

He tries hard with that kind of thing—gender stuff, racial stuff, all that—but he doesn't have, just for example, Hunter's innate ability to always know where those lines are and to never cross them.

Maybe, Marcus thinks, it's because I'm just another dumb, boring white dude.

But Ginny comes over and messes up his hair, so he guesses it's okay, at least for now.

Besides, she actually touched him.

They tease each other some more. Ginny calls him out on his basic jerk act. Asks why he isn't into the sleepover.

"None of my friends are here," he says, for the hundredth time, not that anyone listens.

"Or your girlfriend," Ginny observes.

He takes this opening to point out that Padma isn't his girlfriend. Ginny calls him out, again, on his overall vibe of being completely over everything.

But still, he got it out there: he doesn't consider Padma to be his actual, like, girlfriend. So that ball is sort of in Ginny's court.

And when he wraps up their little friendly conversation and turns to go so she can finish fixing her hair—she calls him back instead.

Before he knows it, they're engrossed in what feels like a real conversation, the kind of conversation he almost never has with anyone. She actually opens up to him a little bit.

Marcus is beginning to perceive that there really are two Ginnys: There is the Ginny who thinks she belongs in Wellsbury, or at least really wants to belong there. The Ginny who also believes she should be with Hunter.

Then there's the other Ginny: the one who stole his motorcycle. And kissed him. And whatever. The Ginny who is clearly her mother's daughter.

They talk about Wellsbury, and whether it is or isn't lame. But something is happening, while Ginny is telling Marcus how great Wellsbury is and how perfect his own life obviously is: Marcus feels his eyes beginning to sting.

It's too much, her idealized vision of his life and the town and—everything. And he's not going to tell her all of it. Not when she's so freaking unpredictable.

But the tears are actually welling up now, so he has to tell her something.

"My best friend died last year …"

Marcus still can't even say his name out loud.

Ginny looks shocked, then sad, then empathetic. But mostly sad.

He doesn't want her to be sad for him, and he doesn't want to feel this way right now, and he definitely does not want to break down in full sobs in front of her.

Maybe I should have stayed on the antidepressants …

But he has to change the vibe, fast, so he stands up and pretends he's going to turn the shower on.

Ginny grabs his arms to stop him. They wrestle around a little. They pretend it's a game. It's obviously not a game, not with the way she's looking at him.

He crouches down so he's at eye level with her, and they both lean in for the kiss …

…and they are immediately interrupted by voices, one of which is Max's.

Of course it is.

Marcus doesn't see Ginny again for the rest of the night.

And by the time they are all released from their prison of enforced fun, Marcus gets to witness Hunter ask Ginny if she'd like to be his girlfriend. It's weird that Hunter does this in front of witnesses in the first place. It reminds Marcus of when dudes propose to women in public, in front of a crowd, on television, whatever—like, what a shitty position to put the other person in. Practically impossible to say no.

Ginny doesn't say no.

And so, for now, she's not Marcus's Ginny, not the girl who was about kiss him in the showers. She's Wellsbury's Ginny, Hunter's Ginny.

The girl who is so good at lying to herself.

It's like a punch in the gut.

Marcus's phone buzzes. Padma: How was it?

He replies honestly: Even worse than I could have imagined.

Padma: Prom will be so much better. You'll see! Anyway, my parents are gone tonight. Want to come over?

Marcus: Sure, why not.

Back at school, Marcus catches Ginny staring at him. Hunter's arm is around her.

Marcus returns the stare just long enough to make it clear: I see you. I see both sides of you. Maybe no one else here does, but I do.

Then he looks away.