The men's bathroom on the second-floor had been smelling of urine and mold for at least three years. It wasn't clear if anyone had ever cleaned it; the fact remained that the odor lingered.

So, the men's bathroom on the second-floor was the perfect spot for a bit of smuggling.

I stood with my back to the window, arms crossed, and my dark glasses shielding me from the sun's glare on the mirrors.

Marcus entered the stench, making the door squeak.

Marcus was a forgettable type, and he intended to be. He had his own good reasons for wanting to go unnoticed.

"How much do I owe you?" I pulled my wallet from my pants pocket and flipped through the cash, letting him admire the stack of credit cards. Most of them were for show. Only two of those cards were actually functional, and the one holding significant sums was safely tucked away in my room.

"One-twenty." He extended his notebook before even receiving the money. Marcus was an honest guy, and it didn't do him any favors. Sooner or later, someone would take advantage of that.

I was sure he had a low opinion of me. He thought I was a lazy, spoiled kid squandering my mom's money to avoid the effort of taking notes myself.

Part of it was true. The money was indeed my mother's, and I couldn't deny being spoiled.

I felt with my thumb the tab I used to separate the hundred-dollar bills from the fifties, and pulled out one of each.

"Keep the change." I had to keep him sweet. Sweet and quiet.

It walked a delicate tightrope to maintain high grades without anyone noticing that I couldn't read a damn thing below the size of a thirty-six font or without a screen magnifier.

First off, you needed a diagnosis of dyslexia. That was easy. Go to a psychologist, give them some money, and voila, you're dyslexic. Bring the dyslexia diagnosis to school and now your tests are written nice and big, and you have a bit of extra time to figure out whether that smudge in the corner is an E or a B?

Then you find someone in the senior year, give them some money, and get them to tell you which teachers are more likely to give oral tests rather than written ones, and then you sign up for all those courses.

Then you find someone who writes neat as an angel, give them some money, and get them to pass you all the notes.

You make yourself known throughout the school as the odd loner with blue hair and sunglasses, so if anyone asks why you always wear sunglasses, well... because you're weird.

Sure, some teachers will hassle you about the sunglasses in class, and then it's imperative to keep your eyes down and hope that your freshly touched-up long lashes from not-too-dark mascara hide the nystagmus.

Keeping your eyes down, dyeing your hair fluorescent colors, and keeping to yourself are all clear signs that you are a weirdo that no one should interact with.

The new school bullies loved to come around and hassle me, and I loved when they came looking for me. How boring would my life be without someone to torment? Without someone to investigate on, to bring out all the little dirty secrets...

Oh, you pushed me in the hallway calling me a faggot, and a week later there's a surprise drug test, right on Friday, when you always come to school high? Oooh nooo. And now you've been kicked off the basketball team? Oooh nooo... And you won't get that college scholarship, your grades suck, and you're broke as hell so you won't be able to do anything with your life?

Well. How. Sad. I. Am.

No one seemed to have yet discovered the connection between the people who pissed me off and the people who suffered random humiliations and catastrophic misfortunes.

Well, Casper noticed. He used to notice, back when he bothered to show up at school, that is.

And he used to almost feel sorry for those bastards.

"Just let me beat him up and the problem's solved." Casper always had the brain of an orangutan.

Me hit BUGA BUGA problem solved.

No. I didn't want Casper meddling in my affairs. In fact. I didn't want anything to do with him at all.

"Uh." Marcus cleared his throat. He was still there. Why was he still there? I had already paid him. "Listen... I heard those lunatics cornered you outside of school. The Coyotes? Well... Is everything okay?"

But listen to him... how cute.

Was he hitting on me or genuinely concerned? Hard to say.

The fact that he was willing to be seen entering a disused bathroom with one of the most blatantly gay guys in school didn't say much about his supposed heterosexuality. Or maybe homophobia was going out of fashion.

"It's all good, they just wanted to have some fun."

Marcus made a noise in his throat. "Can't wait for them to get arrested. I live on the edge of the Pit, and I keep hearing them... those damn motorcycles."

...

Every day, after school, for almost three months, I walked to the nearest square where an Uber was waiting to take me to the police station.

My internship was going great. My supervisor was a homicide detective who spent most of her time behind the desk gossiping about other departments. Dotty loved me. She treated me like her pampered Shih Tzu.

Although the peak of excitement so far had been adding cream to her decaf coffee, this internship was the answer to all my problems. It was a fantastic extracurricular credit, accompanied by a reference letter that (fingers crossed) would open the doors to Brown or Yale.

Honestly, I didn't care where, the important thing was that the next chapter of my life would begin far, far away from Norgree.

"Dotty, my beloved!" I leaned delicately over her PC screen, peeking at her curly, chubby head.

"Benjamin! Welcome back, dear!" She always said welcome back instead of good morning or how are you. I liked it, I found it more genuine.

"I have a dilemma for you." I tilted my head, batting my beautiful gray eyes. No sunglasses at the headquarters, I had to suffer the humiliation of appearing shy by always looking at my shoes, or hope my nystagmus would behave for those four hours, or at least be so slight as to be almost invisible.

Once or twice, I thought I saw Dotty frowning as her image began to flicker, so I supposed something must have been noticed, but for now she hadn't mentioned it.

"Tell me, my star." She sipped something hazelnut-scented from her cup.

"If I wanted to find out who left a note in your mailbox, how would you proceed?"

"Mhh..." Metal against ceramic. Ah, that was a teaspoon in her hands, she was adding sugar to her cup. "I'd check the urban cameras, the private ones, or ask the neighbors if they saw anything."

I slumped with dramatic emphasis. "That's it?"

"Or I could make it more complicated and analyze the handwriting of the note to compare it with the entire circle of suspects. How many are there at the moment?"

"Uhm. An indefinite number."

"And cameras it is!"

I huffed super dramatically, making my way around her desk and seeking refuge in the free swivel chair.

"So? What's this note about?" Dotty asked, waking up the computer and clicking the mouse as fast as she could.

"Uh, an... admirer. A secret admirer. I want to know who it is before responding. You know... I have to know if they're hot or a potato."

"Potatoes are cute! Oh, here we go. Okay, this isn't exactly a legitimate use of our databases, but I'll grant you special permission. Go ahead, enter your address."

I watched the screen. It was a pulsating globe of light, in which I could make out a large dark blue mass and a small white strip. The white strip must be the bar to input the address.

Let's hope the cursor is already in place.

I rested my hands on the keyboard and pretended to look at the keys as I typed Casper's address. Thank you, muscle memory.

"Mpfh." Dotty chuckled. "That's not your address."

"Of course it is." I smiled angelically.

"Chelsea Street is in the Pit."

"So what? Can't I live in the most degraded and criminal neighborhood in the city just because I'm beautiful? Your prejudices hurt me."

"My darling, the phone in your pocket is worth more than an entire house in that neighborhood. Spit it out. Who are we really checking on?"

I'm a good liar. I know that the best lies hide in half-truths.

"My ex-boyfriend. You got me... He received a note, and I just want to make sure there's no shady characters behind it."

"Aaah. So I'm helping you stalk?"

"Not at all. I'm just concerned for his safety." Before she could ask more questions, I pressed enter on the keyboard, and the screen colors changed.

"Okay." Dotty sighed with her fake condescension. "It's time for your lesson, kiddo. Look here. This is the house you marked, and these are the closest cameras."

I could follow her finger pointing, but the screen appeared to me as a confusing game of lights.

Dotty clicked her tongue. "The closest camera is six hundred meters from your target, and there are three uncovered intersections. You can always try to take a look, there's a chance your guy passed right in front of that camera. Do you have a specific time frame?"

"From 11 to 5 yesterday night."

"Not bad. Go ahead, try. Click on the camera."

Click on the camera. Yeah, sure, because I could see the tiny icons representing the cameras and I certainly could see the white arrow cursor. If only I could zoom in on the image, adjust the brightness...

I smiled at my supervisor trying to charm her with my innate charm. "Couldn't you let me handle this alone? I'll never learn with you always looking over my shoulder."

She smiled so much I could see the white of her teeth. "Oh, kiddo... who knows what mischief you could get up to by yourself with access to the police street database. No, sweetheart. I'll stay here."

Okay, so... I couldn't zoom in on the image and stick my face to the screen in front of dear old Dorothy. That would be more than suspicious.

Even my sudden silence was more than suspicious, in truth. And just as I felt the agitation rising, my eyes began to tremble, shifting from right to left the image of the glowing ball that was the screen.

I turned my head sideways, hiding my eyes from Dotty and hoping to appear pensive rather than evasive.

"Well... maybe... maybe I changed my mind. It's not very healthy to stalk my ex. I should try to get over this."

A heavy hand thudded energetically on my shoulder. "That's a great decision, Benjamin."

...

Maybe I really should have let go of the letter story. I kept repeating that I wanted to forget about Cas, and then I always ended up getting tangled up in one of his bullshit.

Instead, I should have focused on my studies. It was January, school was going to be over before I could realize. I had to make sure to excel wherever possible. They didn't let just anyone into Yale, and they didn't let students from just any university into the FBI.

I dragged myself along the driveway, then up the stairs and into the front door. I could navigate the touch panel in the doorway even in the worst vision conditions, so I didn't even bother trying to distinguish the writing. I lowered the blinds and the lights.

"Hi, Ben!" My mother called from the living room when she noticed the lights dimming.

"Hey."

I passed by her as I crossed the living room to drag myself into my room. She was watching our 90-inch TV, big enough for me to make out almost everything clearly.

"How's it going?"

"Tired." I attempted to slip away to my room, but my mother caught me before I could escape for her daily kiss.

"Tired, huh? Then go rest."

Sure.

I entered my room, closed the door, and switched on the screen magnifier. No more thinking about Cas. I needed to focus on my future instead.

My mother thought I was exaggerating, she believed I put too much energy into studying and my internship. I didn't really need to work. Neither did she ever need to work. The Nicholson family lived comfortably thanks to the money from my late grandfather.

If we continued to invest wisely and securely, we could go on for who knows how many generations.

But studying and working weren't just about making money. Especially when you already had money.

I pulled out Marcus's notes and placed them under the screen magnifier's tray. A small scanner captured the image from the notebook and enlarged it on the screen just above.

The next day, I would tell Cas that I was stepping down from the assignment. And that for my mental well-being, I needed him to stay away from me.

I knew that if I really asked him, if I asked him to stay away from me, Casper would disappear from my life.

And that's what I wanted.

That was...

My head snapped abruptly at the sudden tapping on the window. My heart raced like a colt on its first run. I abandoned the screen magnifier and approached the windowsill.

I clicked the switch that raised the blinds and squinted in the gradually dimming daylight.

I opened the window and looked below. There was the garden lawn and the tiles of the driveway. The elm towering next to my window cast a long shadow that stretched beyond the front gate.

"Cas?"

My eyes deceived me. For a moment, I thought I saw him slipping out from the shadow of the tree.

"Casper?" I whispered louder.

He wasn't there. It must have been the wind, or who knows what else.

And how ridiculous I felt, rushing to the windowsill with my heart pounding.

I would never, ever be able to overcome this obsession alone. The only thing that would work was hundreds and hundreds of miles between me and him.

And when I found myself on the other side of the continent, I would stop flinching every time I heard a tap against the glass of a window.