Janelle loved lemons, and when she wore her lemon-print dress, it was a sign that she was happy. She had wrapped her braided hair in a matching yellow scarf and complemented the whole look with a sunny yellow eyeshadow that popped cheerily against her black skin. This is what Janelle was like—always dressed to express. She understood how things went together, how makeup was applied, how to be perfectly together and make it all look easy. It probably was for her. She did calculus in her head, for fun.

Behind her was Nate, his lips twisted into a wry smile. Even when he smiled, Nate’s expression suggested that of an old-timey fisherman resignedly watching his boat being devoured by a sea serpent. His hair was always a bit scruffy, and his clothes a little too big for him. At school he usually wore beat-up cargo pants or corduroys—for his summer look, he had exchanged these for beat-up cargo shorts. He wore the same T-shirts that he had in school; this one read SHRIMP OPTIONAL.

“I’ll let you guys catch up,” Carson said. “I have evening meditation. I’ll be back in an hour. Everyone good with vegan pizza?”

There was a polite pause.

“Or I can get some dairy pizza. See you in a few. Make yourself at home, Stevie.”

“Oh,” Nate said in a low voice, opening the wide barn door, “wait until you see home.”

The first thing that struck Stevie was the vibrant orange color of the walls—it made her eyeballs wobble in her skull.

“Restful, isn’t it?” Nate said.

There were no chairs or tables. Everywhere you looked there were fancy beanbags made of some NASA-quality foam that made you feel like you were floating and supported you in any position. Thick ropes hung from the ceiling with knots tied in them, so you could climb or swing. There were yoga balls, and regular inflatable balls, and a partially deflated human hamster ball in the corner.

“Welcome to the house that boxes built, I guess,” Janelle said.

As reported, there was indeed a single trapeze suspended high up in the rafters.

“How do they trapeze in here?” Stevie said. “There’s not enough room to swing, at least, not very far. And what if they fall?”

“We’ve been wondering about that for the last few hours,” Janelle replied. “We think they use a hook to pull the trapeze over to the loft, then they must jump off really gently and kind of hang there. They probably use that to get down.”

She indicated a large rolled-up tarp against the wall.

“So they just hang from the ceiling and fall into a tarp?” Stevie asked.

“Yeah. It’s not really a trapeze as much as it’s a . . . dangler?”

“He calls them Think Jams,” Nate said, allowing himself to sink deeper into the beanbag. “Did he tell you that? Think Jams.”

“I mean, the thing is, I don’t hate it,” Janelle said. “And that fact makes me hate myself.”