even get into doing monster makeup?”
The attention turned to Dre, and there was a moment when it looked like he might panic, but that wasn’t his style. They were as charmed by him as I was. I wondered what, if anything, would change if they knew Dre and I were together. Would they treat him differently? Would they treat me differently? I knew Mindy wouldn’t care; I think she already liked him more than she liked me, which I had expected. It was Tamal I was concerned about. He had never indicated that he had a problem with queer people, but I was his best friend, and I didn’t want that to change.
“We had a tradition in my family that I got to pick the theme for our Halloween costumes. One year we all dressed up as warrior princesses, another year we were superheroes.”
“Wait,” I said. “Somewhere out there is a picture of you, your mother, and your father all wearing princess gowns?”
“And tiaras,” Dre said, smiling. “Anyway. When I was nine, I decided we were going to be mermaids, but creepy, freaky mermaids. Only, my mom didn’t know how to do that kind of makeup and my dad was clueless too, so I spent weeks on YouTube watching makeup tutorials, and I fell in love with it.”
“Why?” Tamal asked. “I mean, it’s cool, but you can do all that stuff on computers, right?”
Dre nodded, a little wistfully. “There’s something special about the physical transformation. When you’re standing there, half your face torn off, blood leaking out of your split lip, and you really start feeling your inner zombie, it sets you free in a way I don’t think computer-generated effects will ever duplicate.”
My phone vibrated, and I pulled it out while Dre continued telling the others about Dreadful Dressup. There was a message notification on Promethean, which was odd since Dre was the only person I talked to. I assumed it was a message he’d sent earlier that had been delayed, and I tapped the icon and opened the app.
Pyrogue: Hello, Dean Arnault.
I stared at the message, unsure what to do. Time seemed to stretch, and the room melted at the edges. Someone had found out who I was on Promethean. That shouldn’t have been possible, but they had addressed me by name.
PrezMamasBoy: Who is this?
Pyrogue: A friend.
PrezMamasBoy: What do you want?
Pyrogue: To send you a message.
PrezMamasBoy: What message?
Pyrogue: I know.
I had received a fair amount of emails trolling me since my mother had become governor, and the number had only increased after she had become the Republican nominee for president. Usually, I deleted them and moved on with my life or forwarded them to a member of my mother’s staff if I thought they warranted further scrutiny. Whoever this Pyrogue was hadn’t said anything threatening yet, nothing worthy of my fear, and yet there was an icy knot in my stomach I couldn’t ignore. I should have simply blocked Pyrogue, but I foolishly took the bait.
PrezMamasBoy: What, exactly, do you think you know?
Pyrogue: I know about your relationship with Andre Rosario.
I dropped my phone. It hit the thick glass tabletop with a clatter, calling the attention of the others down upon me. “Shoot. Sorry.” I scrambled to stand and grabbed my phone. “I have to . . . go . . . inside for something. A drink. I need a drink.”
Dre began to stand. “I could use one too.”
“No! I mean, I’ll get it for you. Stay and talk. I’ll only be a minute.” I rushed inside before I could make the situation any more awkward than I already had. Instead of going to the kitchen, I locked myself in the downstairs bathroom, where I could read the messages without worrying about anyone seeing them.
Pyrogue: Don’t bother denying it.
Pyrogue: The truth will come out.
Pyrogue: Pay close attention to the news.
PrezMamasBoy: I’m sorry, but I believe you have me mistaken for someone else.
PrezMamasBoy: I am not now, nor have I ever been, in a relationship with Andre Rosario.
Pyrogue didn’t reply with words. They sent me two photos. The first was me walking into the janitor’s closet at the second debate. The next was Dre walking out of the same closet a few minutes later. Both were time-stamped. I leaned against the sink, unable to breathe. My chest hurt and my vision was dim at the edges. I thought I was having a panic attack. Someone knew the truth about Dre and me. Someone had found out. What had Pyrogue