How are your studies with that tutor? I saw her photo online, she’s very cute, his mother says. Very cute. Xie scowls. What does that have to do with anything. Ellen glancing at him in the mirror. It might actually be for the best, you know, this tutor, a more structured environment might speak to your learning style. She huddles around a compact, plucks a stray lash from her eyelid. The edge of her dark hair, almost as dark as his own, ironed flat as a sheet of paper. She slides her sunglasses back on. Do you have friends you want to see? He puts his head against the seat. No. Usual traffic. The car barely moving. You should have let me take the bus, he says. She snorts. Buses get caught in traffic, too, you know. Endless ribbon of asphalt cut into the dry hills. Treeless. What would P. make of this landscape. Does he even know it exists. Are you hungry? Jerry asks. No. Eating a handful of almonds. Once at the apartment heading to the bathroom with his bag, crouched on the tile to unfold a square of flannel. Splinter of bone no bigger than a needle. Jagged on one side from where it fell away from the marrow. Five minutes, ten minutes, Xie wedged between sink and tub, the bone beneath his thumbs; this is where you used to come to look at that photo, of the skeleton at the head of the tomb, you left it beneath a stack of towels in the cupboard once and when you looked for it again it was gone. Ellen at the door. Xie? Do you need something for your stomach? Not answering. Erik in the house, not knowing. The body above his head. Please let it be okay. You kiss the bone. Fold it up, tuck it away. Water on your face. Everything in the apartment fresh, faultless: white tile, gleaming mirrors. But so small. No room anywhere and outside no yard, no land, you can hear every move anyone makes in this place. Jerry whispering to his mother, Just give him some space, he’ll warm up. Drink from the tap taste of fluoride and lead spit it out. Whisper. Come get me. Curl on the floor. Close your eyes. Wake up.