He pretends to type vigorously. “That clears everything up.”

I laugh and feel myself retreating into myself. “Never mind, okay? I don’t know what it means. It’s just what came out after a run one day, so I wrote it down. It doesn’t like mean anything.”

“What if it does? No one uses a term like alien familiars randomly.”

I put my head between my knees, and my hair falls around me like an unruly curtain. “They’re things we like rampage the universe to find, only to realize we’ve known them all along.”

“That’s beautiful,” he says softly.

“It’s a hypothesis entirely backed up without facts.”

“What does—”

I clear my throat loudly. “Nope, enough about me. What’d you write about?”

Brendan laughs, and I pull my head up only so I can shake it vigorously as he talks. “Wait, don’t change the subject, there’s something there.”

I sigh. “Writing about running isn’t even half as good as running. And anything I say about my dad getting sick isn’t half as bad as him being sick, so really I don’t see the point in trying to write an essay after all.”

He cocks his head. “You just shut down sometimes.”

“Surprise, I’m a robot! So what did you write about?” I ask again. “Enlighten me with your college essay. It must have been pretty good if you get to tutor people now.”

He looks down at his computer and laughs. “Oh, just wrote about how all my friends are dead people. You know, the usual.”

“You’re joking right?”

“Nope.”

“What does that mean?”

He smiles and shrugs. “I read a lot. Actually, I read a lot of quotes because I hate reading books, but the quotes I like are usually by people who died a long time ago, and I know it’s kinda cheap just to collect the good stuff, but I guess that’s where I am right now.”

I let go of the strand of hair I’ve been stroking for the last ten minutes. “I don’t really get what you mean.”

“I have favorite writers and stuff,” he says, drawing the computer into his lap, “but I’ve never read their books. I’ve just read quotes from their books online. And it feels like these people are keeping me company.”

He becomes fascinated by a speck of dirt on his screen. I think he’s embarrassed, which makes me want to scoot closer to him. “What’s one of the quotes?” I ask.

He taps the keyboard, then reads aloud. “‘Do not feel lonely. The entire universe is inside you.’”

“Wow,” I say, feeling something stir inside me. It could be the universe or it could be the breakfast I forgot to eat. “Who said that?”

“Dead poet friend named Rumi.”

“Rumi, huh?” We share a brief look punctuated by a tiny smile.

“Okay, back to your essay,” he says. I groan.

“High school is a torture chamber. It’s unbearable! I must have the moon or something.”

He laughs. “Okay, Caligula. Keep talking. What have the last four years been like?” he asks, fingers poised over the keys. Now that he’s told me the status of his BFFs, I can’t just blow his question off. I try not to think too much and let the truth come out.