“Ready for food?” he asks.

“I’m starving.”

We settle at a corner table at the far end of the dining hall, in a spot by the large glass picture window overlooking CIA’s vast sustainable food garden, something Jack says is what drew him to the school in the first place. Beyond the creative writing program, of course. He tells such rich, detailed stories about his family and their “modern cabin in the woods”-style farmhouse with a roadside stand where they sell fruits during the months when it’s not bitterly cold and snowy. The way he talks about his family makes me jealous, like they’re the best people on the planet. And like something out of the fabled American Dream aesthetic.

“My dad and mom are my best friends,” he says. “I also have an older brother.”

“Callum?” I say and then wince because how in the hell should I know who Callum is? Oh, that’s right. Because I’m a creeper who rifles through cute boy’s rooms. “I saw a picture with his name.”

He laughs. “Nah, Callum is my best friend. I have a little sister who is fourteen, too. I’d do anything for her.”

Okay, swoon, because same.

“Taylor, my sister, is twelve, and I’d die for her.”

There’s a glint in his eye as he nods like I passed some test.

“That’s cool that you’re that close to your parents,” I say.

“Yeah, some people think it’s weird, but that’s how I was raised. My dad is pretty awesome. He owns a whiskey distillery, and I’ve pretty much been drinking the stuff since I was my sister’s age. My mom hates it, but she goes along with it because, if you know my dad, you can’t really say no to him.”

Jack must catch the fearful look in my eyes because he quickly follows it up with, “Not like that. He’s not abusive or a bad guy, but he’s like the town mayor. Not actually, but I’m telling you, everybody falls in love with him because he’s just like, Superman, you know?”

No, I don’t. But it’s nice to imagine a father can be a superhero.

“What about you?” he asks.

“I’m really close to my mom. She’s the quintessential single mom, does it all. Sometimes I think she does too much. I worry about her because she puts everything into Taylor and me, and now that I’m gone, Taylor is on the cusp of being all, ‘fuck you, mom, I hate you.’ ”

From the look on Jack’s face, his sister would never say that to their mother.

“I wish I could be there for both of them to sort of, I don’t know, guide them forward. That’s kinda my deal in the family. And I want my mom to have a life beyond us.”

“I get that,” Jack says. “What about your dad?”

“Nothing really to say. We see him every other weekend.” I shrug and push food around my plate with my fork. “We’ve always had a hard time clicking. I think he wanted a kid who played sports, and that’s very clearly not me. I guess the best way to put it is, I get the sense that if we weren’t related, we wouldn’t choose to be friends. But he was cool when I came out, so that counts for something. A lot, actually.”