“Military funding is extremely unreliable, boychik,” my dad says, putting his glasses back on and entering what I’ve always thought of as Professor Mode. “That project was defunded. There was nothing else we could have done. We did our best.”

“Your best wasn’t good enough!” I croak, tears bubbling up again.

“It often isn’t,” my mom says sadly, and I can hear the weight of the world in her voice. “But we have to keep trying.”

“Why?” I ask, not understanding one jot of this.

My dad smiles softly at me.

“Knowledge.”

51

ADAM

Just like that, the dream is over and school is a torturous slog again. Caleb won’t return my texts, won’t look at me in class—he’s pale-faced and grim, keeping his head down as he marches through the halls. I want to reach out, say something—anything—but I can’t get my feet to move or my mouth to work.

We’d only been together for a few months but he’d already changed the landscape of my days. Now I’m back to hiding in the library, keeping an eye out for danger, working as hard as I can to make myself invisible. Not even my nook feels secure enough, so I’ve taken to sitting on the floor in the dark, dusty stacks.

“Adam?”

My daily self-pity sesh is interrupted by Caitlin, who has somehow tracked me down in this far corner of the library.

“What do you want?” I sigh, not having enough energy to put up with any small talk.

“Um, the Gorgias?” she says, inching toward me like I’m a bomb waiting to go off.

“What?”

“Gorgias,” she repeats. “It’s, um—it’s right behind you.”

My brain catches up to the fact that I’m leaning against the philosophy books and Caitlin isn’t actually here to check on me—she just wants to read some Plato.

“Oh,” I say, turning around to grab the slim volume from behind my right ear. “Here you go.”

I hand her the book and she smiles awkwardly at me. We haven’t spoken since the football game, a fact I am beginning to deeply regret. Caitlin has been kind to me—has put up with my prickliness more than anyone else has other than Caleb, and now Caleb—well. I should probably wait for Caitlin to leave before I careen back into my wallowing.

“Are you okay?” she asks after a few seconds of tense silence.

“I’m—” I start before realizing that this is my chance to course-correct from the past few months; from getting so caught up in my own love life that I ignored the friendship of a girl who maybe needs it as much as I do.

“I’m not great, to be honest,” I say finally, and Caitlin grimaces sympathetically before gingerly sitting down on the carpet.