Two hours later, we pull off the paved road. We’ve been climbing into the mountains for a few miles, twisting and turning with the contours of the range. But now the dirt path onto which we’ve plunged is barely wide enough for Bandit’s navy Tahoe. A sudden dip causes the seat belt to bite into my shoulder, and a branch scrapes against the side of the car, creating a loud screech.

“Your poor paint job,” I moan, white-knuckling the bar on the passenger door. “These trees are wrecking it.”

Bandit fixes his eyes straight ahead. “Now you know why I don’t get out here more often.”

These are the first words we’ve exchanged in the last five minutes. He’s silent because he’s concentrating on the road. Me, on the other hand? I’m tense because there’s a gun in my backpack, and the closer we get to Charlie’s cabin, the more aware I am of its heavy weight against my thigh.

Earlier, however, I was able to forget my mission for long minutes at a time. I told Bandit about my passion for exploring the world—and all the nature, animals, and people in it. My mom lived in only one town, I explained. She only ever knew one group of people, one way of life. Maybe that’s not why she left; maybe my need to take a divergent path is only one factor contributing to my career choice. But I’d be lying if I said that her abandonment didn’t play a role.

He told me he used to be nerdy as a kid. He wore thick black glasses and was constantly teased. That was why he wasn’t nicer when I confessed that I loved him on the basketball court. He felt the scrutiny of all those eyes—and he resorted to the role he knew best, the one that’s protected him all these years: arrogant jerk.

Of course, it didn’t help that he was the victim of rampant rumors last year, the ones that claimed his parents were bribing the guidance counselor.

“Do you want to know why I was really seen leaving her office at all hours?” he asked, his eyes dark and vulnerable. “I was receiving counseling for Khun Yai’s death. But I suppose the truth is nowhere as juicy as the gossip.”

I reached across the console and squeezed his arm. Because I was as guilty as the rest of our classmates in my perception of him. Entitled, universally admired Bandit, without a worry to darken his painfully perfect life.

Yes, he’s popular. Yes, he has a high opinion of himself. But though we may be different in some ways, we’re achingly similar in others. In our values. In the cores of who we are.