“I guess.” Did I really just tell them? Was it so easy and stupid? I don’t even know if I’m having a good conference. I take a breath. “But thank you. For asking.” I pinch my elbow until it stings. “What you said about the bath. Your old, like, bath? That sort of got me.”

Minsie looks beyond me, my cheesy words hanging. Kids tangle together in parking spots, staring at one another like they can’t believe the night is real, too stupefied to even touch. “I think you’re the only one who listened.” They snort. Their nose is broad and flexible, sturdy, like a bull’s. “I wasn’t trying to be a rock star. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before. But I was up there, jabbering, and suddenly it was like clouds parting or whatever shit. Of course these kids have moved on from any stupid freak out. And here’s this fossil, spewing.”

“Yes,” I say, too loudly. “It’s galling.”

Minsie’s focus wanders down to find me. They offer a parsimonious nod. “You want a drink? A real one?” They say it like I asked, like I begged, like they’re grudgingly consenting.

“I can’t tonight.”

“Well.” Minsie’s cheeks brighten, like a candle lit up inside their head. “Tonight isn’t the last night on earth.”

“No,” I whisper. Are they hitting on me? Their breath burns my forehead. They step closer. Those handsome, slender eyes, vibrant slivers in skin that’s invitingly soft, mature. How lovely, a night full of Minsie’s attention.

Sunny appears at my side, face strained, dancing on his toes. “Can we go?”

My first instinct is to agree, yes, of course, whatever he wants. But I’m trying to give myself time here. I make myself pause, say, “I’m having a conversation.”

Sunny groans. “But you said you wanted to go home, and, like, if we have to go home now, that’s chill.” He peers at the bank of cars, ours somewhere out there, like he could will me toward it. He’s had an intense day. Meeting friends who only ever lived in the flat circles of their avatars, finding them thrilling or disappointing or overwhelming or irritating. Speaking before an audience. Being among other kids, en masse, for the first time in years.

My mouth twitches, still stuck in the shape of gratitude for Minsie’s invitation. “We can go soon, Sunny. Can you give me a minute?”

“We could have cheese bears and hang out?”

The plan sounds so sweet, so cozy, that half of me melts toward it.

“Yes, dear,” says Minsie, their voice pitching high, as though Sunny were years younger. “Me and your—what term do you prefer? There isn’t a neutral for aunt and uncle, as far as I’m aware—are talking.”