Karen puts down her pen, pulls a lunch bag from her backpack. You can’t eat in here, Greg calls. Yes, we know, she says. Xie follows her outside. Karen settles on the steps. He hesitates, then sits beside her. Tipping trail mix from the pocket of his hoodie into his hand. Do you live nearby? she asks. Yeah. Near the creek. That’s a long walk for you, she says. He shrugs. I don’t mind. I like the woods. You have brothers? Sisters? No. Just your parents? My dad. What does he do? He’s a, um, contractor. She uncaps a bottle of iced tea, drinks. And you’re from California. He squints. Don’t you know all this already from a file, or…? She shrugs. Just curious. She peels plastic wrap from a sandwich. Pieces of ham, clotted with mayonnaise, spill from the sides as she lifts it. He grimaces. Why do you eat that. Oh, that’s right, she says, almost to herself. You don’t eat meat. I don’t eat animals, he corrects. I don’t know why anyone does. Karen’s back stiffens against the step. I’m sorry if it offends you. Silence. Neither of them looks at the other. Sun soaking the steps. Xie rubs his chin on his arm. Rises. Goes back inside to sit at the table, looking at the stacks of folders, books, the paper, the pencils, her green pen. The last time he ate meat he was twelve years old, after the spill: Xie was Alex then. Even miles from the beach, they could smell something off; at first they thought it was the sandwiches, ham pressed hot in the pockets of Erik’s windbreaker, but the closer they got to the beach the stronger the smell became, noxious, chemical. They parked at their usual spot, yellow tape blocking access to the beach beyond. A black ribbon flat against the horizon; that was the water. No trace of blue. On the rocks below the lot a half dozen pelicans huddled together. Coated from beak to foot in oil. Don’t touch them, his father said. Someone will come help. But there was no one. The black sea lapping the sand. Those bewildered eyes. He watched as one of the birds collapsed, its head twisted sideways against its neck. His father pulled him away. The fire on the water burned for two weeks; the beach remained black for a year. Sea turtles, dolphins, whales, gulls, crabs, otters, fish rolled up by the waves in the tens of thousands. Oil on meat on sand. No stopping it. Xie got headaches, bloody noses; he was always tired, couldn’t sleep. His mother standing in the doorway. Stop playing games, you’re fine. But his father was never angry. Scared of what he saw. Xie curled in the dark. Unable to make it from one room to another. The people who used to go to the beach just went somewhere else. Life as usual. Slumped in his seat as his father fed gas into the truck he suddenly couldn’t stand it.