It was June third. You had something itching at your brain, you just had to tell someone. After your English teacher had briefly mentioned he was married to a man, you couldn’t take it anymore. You had to tell someone, and he seemed like the safest option.

It was scary. It felt dangerous, even. All throughout English class, you couldn’t focus. You tried to write, but your hand was shaking way too much, the words were ineligible. After what feels like centuries the bell rings. You raise your hand and ask to speak to Mic after class, he says “of course.” After the bell rings, everyone leaves—except you. You take a deep breath, stand up, and slowly walk over to his desk.

“Hey, little listener! What’s up?” He asks enthusiastically.