The meeting is in the basement of a Unitarian church forty-five minutes from town. A couple dozen people wearing Crocs and battered boots, cargo pants, canvas jackets, beanies, leaning against the walls or grouped on folding chairs, drinking beer or tea or cups of kombucha. The room cool, damp, wood paneling on the walls weirdly domestic, like a rec room in some ’70s duplex. Xie pushes his hands deep into the pocket of his hoodie. Leni bends to re-strap her boots, shin-high and glossy. Are those new? Yeah. Jo got them for me. They’re vegan leather. He elbows Jo. Where’s my new boots? She elbows back, hard: In the dumpster along with the rest of your shit. A guy with a bushy red beard and pink cheeks enters from a door on the opposite end of the room, raising a hand in their direction, big smile, small sharp teeth. Hey, wow, thanks for coming out, he says. I’m Peter. You’re FKK? Jo nods. Yeah, this is Leni, Xie. Warm hand taking each of theirs in turn. We heard about the action you guys did at the Moore farm, Peter says. Really inspiring. Xie glances at the girls; Jo lifts her cup up, like, cheers. I’m sure Jo already filled you in, but we’re an anarchic organization, Peter says. There’s no official affiliation, no leadership, though we share a lot of the same values and goals concerning the environment with a lot of the more radical biocentric groups out there. We’re here to make connections, share resources, support each other in whatever we’re doing. We just ask that you don’t talk about what’s discussed down here with people who aren’t members, so everyone stays safe, okay? They nod. Cool. I’m really stoked for you guys to meet Nova, Peter says. She’s going to have a lot to share with us about her work with E.A. Yeah, we can’t wait, Leni says, glancing at Xie, who just nods like an idiot. Let me introduce you to some people, Peter says, arm out, and when he and the girls turn toward the rest of the group Xie hesitates, his anxiety as high here as anywhere, even though these are all supposedly people like him, like FKK, people who care about the things he cares about, why can’t he enjoy it? Maybe he just. Needs some air, to pee, to get a drink of water, something. He jogs up the stairs, turning down the hall at the top, head down. Running straight into a body. Shit, he breathes, sorry. A girl lifts her head from the water fountain, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. Taller than Xie, a few years older. Dark hair pulled back. A fresh scar on her forehead, bright purple, as thick as a finger, carved from temple to temple. The flesh on Xie’s neck prickles. She looks at him, black gaze half blank. Did you need to use this? No, Xie replies. I was just going out for a sec.