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“Mike—”

“Drop it, dude.”

He turned for the locker rooms. I went after him.

“Hey, I’ve been calling you since Saturday. Quit avoiding me,” I said to his back.

“I’m not avoiding you. It’s just not a big deal,” he said, not turning around.

“You were—” I lowered my voice as we came into the locker room. “You were drunk at noon. You don’t think that’s a big deal?”

He ignored me.

“Mike!”

He stopped by the lockers and stood there for a moment with his back to me. Then he sat on a bench and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, peering past me into the bathrooms. “I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

I stood in front of him. “No. That’s twice now. What the hell is going on?”

He wasn’t looking me in the eye. Someone walked through the locker room to the showers and we both held quiet. When we heard the water turn on, he looked at me.

“I’ve been having panic attacks,” he said, his voice low.

“What? Since when?”

“I don’t know. A couple of months.”

I shook my head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face and looked out at someplace past me.

“Are you and Larissa okay?” I asked.

He paused. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re fine.”

I studied him.

“What?” he said, looking up at me.

“You tell me what.”

He watched me for a moment, but he didn’t reply.

Something was off. I’d known him my whole life, and something wasn’t right.

I sat next to him. “What’s going on?” I asked. “Talk to me.”

He went quiet for a long time. “Do you ever feel like everyone hates you?” he said.

I tilted my head. “What?”

“Like the second you leave the room they’re talking about you. Or they’re only pretending to laugh at your jokes. They only invite you because they feel sorry for you.”

“Do you… do you feel like that?”

He stayed quiet.