Stopped standing it. He opened the door, started walking. Alex, his father called, but he was not Alex anymore. He poured out all the milk in the house, threw packages of lunch meat to the dogs next door, sold his computer for a bike. When he was thirteen the beaches turned yellow again but he still smelled the oil, still saw the birds collapsing against the rocks. He refused to fill his prescriptions. Chose a new name. A new town. As if he could outrun it. The clock ticks. Karen stays outside, giving him or herself a moment. Xie’s knee trembles beneath the table, all the blood in his body pounding. Nowhere to go. He draws a skull in the margin of his homework. Erases it. Presses the tip of his pencil, hard, against his jaw. Two more hours. By the end of the day, three billion animals will be dead. You just sit there.

In the afternoon Jo and Leni are waiting for him in the library parking lot, leaning against the hood of the Jetta, Leni in tight plaid pants and Jo in ripped jeans and a black tank top, hair fully spiked, both of them wearing more eyeliner than Xie can really understand. Hey, he says, Shouldn’t you be in school? We called in sick, Jo says. Get in, loser. He climbs into the backseat. Leni leans to look out the windshield as Karen comes down the steps, shading her eyes against the sun. Is that your tutor? Yeah. You like her? She’s okay. Too bad she’s not hot, Jo says with a smirk. Like he would even notice, Leni says, and Xie shakes his head. Where are we going? he asks. Jo pats coconut oil on her thick lips, smacks them together in the mirror. I’ve been emailing this guy, Peter, who runs an environmental colloquium at the university, which is kind of a lame crunchy hippie thing, but he told me last week that he also runs a secret meetup for radical activists. Invitation only. So we’re invited? Xie asks. The girls grin. What do you think?