“When you do it the right way,” he quickly adds, as if to prevent future indiscretions on my part.

“Without identity theft?”

“Yes, that.” He smiles slightly. “And actually if it’s all the same to you: president. Definitely president. I wouldn’t mind living in the White House, if it’s all the same to you.” He smiles again.

We continue walking in silence until we finally reach the Hickmans’ brownstone. He waits for me as I return Tumbler, leaning against the tree outside—head tilted back, hands in his pockets, the jumpsuit under his coat looking like a loose pair of gray slacks. Away from the Wyatt and at a distance, I realize there’s an effortless swagger to him. It’s not hard at all to picture him with his golden saxophone in hand, enthralling a crowd of jazz heads or even afropunk hipsters.

“Henri, when I said you’re not like those other kids, I didn’t . . . ,” Dad starts. “I don’t mean that you’re not worth as much as them.”

“It’s okay, Dad.”

“No, it’s not!”

He stops walking and grabs my arm, spinning me around to face him.

“We never have to worry about you at school, you’ve never asked for an allowance a day in your life—”

“I just occasionally commit digital fraud and almost get kicked out of school a few weeks before graduation.”

“Stop that. I mean it, Henri! You don’t ask for anything. You’re seventeen, and you work harder than anyone your age should. And I know you’ll never take anything for granted like those kids. That’s what I meant, and it’s just—fuck!”

It’s loud enough to raise the eyebrows of two passersby.

“Dad!”

“I’m not a wordsmith, Henri! I just . . . I want you to know that I adore you, kiddo,” he finally spits out.

He does?

“Oh. Okay.”

“It has nothing to do with what college you get into, dang it. You’re not some trophy to me. You’re—you’re my kid, and I adore you. Your mom says I should say it more. And I think she’s right.”

Dehydrated people can get a heart attack if they’re given too much water too quickly. That’s how I feel right now.

“So, for all future records, if you rob a bank or become president, whatever the outcome: this is me saying it.” He coughs. “I adore you, and I’m damn proud of you. That’s the baseline.”