I am so dead.

One-thousand-copies-of-the-school's-magazine-with-um-a-little-addition-are-going-to-be-delivered-to-the-loading-dock-in-fifteen-minutes dead.

I check my iPhone for the time and when I look  up, I see a truck pulling into the parking lot. The printer's logo on the side is as tall as I am.

          The truck backs up into place and the driver steps out. "Delivery for the school, attention Kim Jongin?" he asks, looking up to me.

          I nod.

          The driver climbs the stairs and unlatches the truck door. It rolls up. He maneuvers a stack of white boxes onto a dolly and then rolls his way over to me. I open the door. "Here okay?"

          I'm not really sure where to put the evidence that might get me expelled, so I say, "That's great."

          He goes back for another load, and another. With each box a little pebble of guilt drops into my stomach. I count twenty boxes and my stomach aches as if it's filled with twenty stones.

          "That should be all," he says. "Sign here."

          And again I am signing my name-as if the authorities need more proof that I'm the perp.

          "Here's your samples," the driver says, and hands me a shrink-wrapped package.

          "Thanks," I say, gulping down a lump in my throat. "Have a nice day!"

          "Sure thing," he says, and heads out.

Walking into Mr. Kim's room, I don't feel so awesome. Not when I see twenty boxes of the magazines and Sehun sitting on a desk next to them. Dasom, Naeun, Taemin, and Mr. Kim are standing around talking.

          "You're here!" Dasom says. "We were waiting to do the big reveal together!"

          "Yeah," Naun adds. "We've got sparkling cider to celebrate!"

          "Oh," I say. We are so not going to be celebrating.

          "You do the honors, Sehun. You're the editor!" Dasom says.

          So Sehun lifts a box onto the desk, and, with his car key, slices through the packing tape. He folds back the flaps and I get the feeling that I am watching this all unfold from a distance, like a fly on the ceiling.

          Mr. Kim stands back, his hands in his pockets with an air of confidence that there isn't a misspelled word or misplaced comma in the whole damn thing.

          Sehun also takes out a copy. Then Naeun, then Dasom, Taemin, and me.

          I watch Sehun as he turns the pages, only to be distracted by a gasp from Naeun. She must have been turning pages faster than Sehun. I watch her eyes grow wide.

          "What?" Dasom asks. And soon she is leaning over Naeun's issue, staring at the centerfold.

          "What the hell?" Sehun asks, spraying spittle and catching on.

          Sehun's question wipes the confidence from Mr. Kim's face. He reaches for a copy too.

          "I know you disagreed with us, Jongin," Sehun says to me, his voice low but growing louder. "But that's no reason to ruin our magazine. Our hard work!"

          "We didn't want gay in it!" Dasom says. "We voted!"

          "It's not !" Naeun snaps.

          "Whoa," Taemin says real low.

          Sehun picks up another copy, flips to the middle, and sees the comic again. "They're all like this?" he asks, his voice booming around the room.

          "No," I say, and take the one from his hands. "we have a homophobic version too." I pinch the middle eight pages and give them a tug. The paper tears at the staples. The pages come free. I crumple the comic with one hand and give the magazine back to Sehun with the other.

          He's sputtering and wheezing, hatred for me boiling in the red-hot blood flooding his face. "You're a piece of work, Jongin!"

          "So are you, Schnozboo