[Will's dropped his head, staring intently at his knees, hands curled into tight fists in his lap. There's a little corner of his mind that he keeps locked tight, with every single thing that's been said to him -- by the kids at school, by some of the adults around town, by his dad -- shoved inside, out of sight, out of mind, so he won't have to think about it. He doesn't let it out. He doesn't even acknowledge it exists.

But just for a second, for the space between breaths, Will let's the tight control loosen, just a fraction. When the words come, they're hoarse, ugly, hurting things dragged out from that deep, dark, quiet place.]

When he still lived with us, my dad would...always tell me to stop being such a faggy little crybaby. Stop acting like a little girl. Man up. No son of his is going to be the town queer.

...Kara, I don't...I don't want him to be right about me.