“Sure,” I said. We sat in worldly silence, sipping our drinks. I hate beer.

It was up to me to say the next thing. “Miss Sedge tutors me at home. Even between treatments there is no point in me going to school.” He nodded. “Dr. O says I could, but Mom thinks I’m too tired and I could catch something.” He nodded again. “I probably shouldn’t even be here.” Further nod. “I’m about to go through another round.” I was taxing Jack’s nodding faculties.

“Do you like to talk about it?” he asked. “Or not? Fine if you don’t.”

“Sometimes yes,” I said. “Sometimes no.”

“How will I know?”

“I’ll post it on Facebook: ‘I now wish to speak about my cancer. Please make an appointment.’ ”

I liked the way his eyes almost shut when he laughed and I liked him asking “How will I know?” as if it were up to me but in theory I could talk about it if I wanted to. As if there would be lots of times to talk about it. I guess the campaign meant he’d be seeing me again.

“Miss Sedge is pretty cool.”

“I know.” After a minute: “We weren’t very nice to her.”

“You weren’t?”

“Way back in ninth grade,” I rushed to say. “Vicky drew a cartoon of her on the board. One time she caught us outside the library, making fun of her voice.” She told us to get to class or we would be in big trouble, but the look on her face before she covered it up is something I don’t like to think about, even now. Especially now.

I picked up a book and read the title out loud. “Life as We Know It: Varieties of Global Catastrophe. Well, catastrophe’s better than warming! What I hate is these words. Warming sounds so cozy. Who wouldn’t want to be warm? Keystone Pipeline. How could something called a ‘keystone’ be dangerous?” In Jack’s presence, with the air flowing freely around the bare bulb of my head, I didn’t know what would come out of my mouth before I heard myself say it.

“It’s impression management,” said Jack. “The extractive industries are good at that.”

“Where do you get this stuff from? Impression management. Extractive industries.” I felt subdued by his earnestness, by what he knew that I didn’t.

“My dad, mostly,” he admitted.

“What I don’t understand is, aren’t the people making the pipeline worried about the planet? They live here too.”