“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing. I’m just letting you know how obvious it is when you avoid a question.”

Apollo sighed. It annoyed him how right she could be, how purposeless their antagonism was, but how real it felt. The circulating air suddenly felt hot, his forehead throbbing.

“We’re doing this because there’s nothing else to do,” he replied.

“What do you mean?”

“Think about our futures, all of us. We’ll go to school, graduate, get jobs, buy cars to drive to the jobs, keep the jobs to pay for the cars, buy houses, get married, have kids, and then die. Because America. But like, what is that?”

“That’s one way to do it. I already have a house, though, so I guess I’m American as fuck.”

“This is serious, Solara. Think about what we know. We’ll never have time other than now to act on it, to do something that matters. We’ll be too busy thinking about credit scores and commute times and vacation spots. You have a house now, but you don’t really care. You’re gonna just have one or two gap years and then fall in line like the rest of us. Believe me. My parents were raised by rebels in the Biafran War. Look at them now. All they do is work and buy bullshit.”

Sol sucked her teeth and stood up. “I’m going home,” she said. “You coming?”

“What for?”

“Because you still haven’t answered my question.”

Apollo laughed and grabbed his shoes.

° ° °

“Where’d you get this one?” Apollo asked as he mounted Sol’s bike pegs.

“The streets!” Sol shouted as she pushed off. Apollo was impressed by how easily she carried his weight.

“If I told you that you biked like a maniac, would you care?” Apollo asked as his feet transitioned from bike peg to asphalt.

“If I told you that I cared about your opinion, would you believe me?” Sol replied.

Apollo scowled and followed her inside her house, taking it in for the first time. The living room was strewn with tools, emptied paint cans, and rolling papers. Neat stacks of boxes hugged lavender walls, a paint-splattered tarp sprawled over the carpet, and a fan spun furiously from the ceiling, its dangling cords scatting arrhythmic jingles. Apollo sank into the couch and compared the IRL experience to what he had glimpsed on Snapchat. It was smaller than he expected, much hotter, too, but it felt pretty homey, all things considered. But homes were still a distraction, property an illusion.

“Geez, I know it’s messy, but tell me how you really feel,” Sol said, entering with glasses and a jug.

Apollo slackened his scowl; it had apparently deepened. “Oh god, is this your infamous tea?” he asked.

“Infamous and ice-cold. You can take it or leave it.”

Apollo took it and nursed down a gulp. It was good. He tilted his glass upward.