Férnan comes around the corner and the boy—Rufus—crosses his arms. “Go to the back and wait for me.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You keep talking back like I’m one of your friends.”

“We’re not friends, Pops?!”

“Stop being a smart-ass.”

“If I can’t be smart, then stop yelling at me when my report cards suck.”

“Rufus, go wait for me in the back. Now.”

There’s a tense stare-down before Rufus sucks his teeth again. To make matters worse, he kicks a crate and sends it flying into a wall. Everything goes quiet. Orion and I don’t move, like we’ve just discovered we’re on a minefield and one wrong step can blow us up. The only explosive in the room is Rufus’s temper. Then before any discipline can happen, Rufus seems to diffuse himself as his eyes light up in wonder.

“Found one!” Rufus shouts. He picks up a camera. Férnan extends his hand, but Rufus skips past him and comes straight to me. “Here you go.”

It’s a digital camera, a Canon PowerShot. I don’t know much about this particular model, but it should do the trick.

“Thanks so much, Rufus.”

“You’re welcome.”

Rufus then peacefully retreats to the back.

Férnan sighs as he returns behind the counter. “Don’t ever have kids.”

“Not a problem,” I say, handing him the camera.

Férnan is inspecting the camera against his records when he looks up, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry, Valentino. I forgot.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I didn’t mean it anyway. I love Rufus, and he’s a great kid. His temper sometimes gets the best of him. I was the same way when I was his age. He’ll grow out of it.” Férnan wipes sweat off his forehead. “Am I making it worse? I’m sorry. This is a first for me, and I don’t know how . . . especially with someone so young and . . .”

Orion rests his arm on my shoulder, bringing a casual energy to this moment. “We’re all figuring it out, but mad thanks to Rufus for finding us this camera. We’re going to make some memories on Valentino’s End Day.”

Férnan’s eyes water as he steals glances at me. He sees someone young. Rufus will be my age in a few years, and maybe Férnan is dreading what it would be like to watch his son live his End Day. I don’t wish that on them.

“How long have you two been friends?” he asks.

Orion counts under his breath. “Ten hours–ish.”

Férnan has many questions, but he doesn’t ask any of them. He simply finishes cross-referencing the model of this camera with his records and says, “This was a sale, not a loan. So it’s all yours.”