Why are you always so cold? he asks, and she looks surprised. I’m not. Light wind lifting her hair. They cross the empty intersection and turn up the road that curves sharply toward the trees. You know I talked to your father, she says. I thought the school might do it eventually anyway and I just wanted to get out in front of it. They turn off the tarmac into the woods, stepping over the guardrail. He had pried the PRIVATE PROPERTY signs from the trees weeks before and the pale spots where the signs had been still show. He knows you’re doing good work with me, and he knows MacAdams isn’t seeing any of it. Their feet hit the soft earth at the same time. And there is P., stepping with them, not at Xie’s side but hers. Some animal darts from the hollow, brown body quick through the undergrowth. The school is going to want to meet with you at some point, and me, and your father. You don’t have to go. But they will expel you eventually. She looks up at the birch. He’s on your side, she says. Like me. Xie nods. The handle of P.’s sword taps her hip, that’s how close he is walking to her. She takes a baggie of celery from her pocket, offers it to him; he declines. Where do you go, he asks. What do you mean? Like when you want to hang out or whatever. She chews, thinking. I don’t know. I like being at home, I guess. I’m definitely not out in the woods, if that’s what you mean. But you grew up here, in the country, right? She shrugs. Yeah, but I guess it never really rubbed off on me, the whole outdoors thing. She peels a string off a piece of celery. Wipes it on her thigh. But you, you came all this way from the city. To live here. Of all places. You don’t think it’s beautiful? Of course it’s beautiful. But I always feel like it doesn’t have anything to do with me. Like it doesn’t want me. What doesn’t? Karen sucks the end of her celery, brows knit. Nature. She steps over a cracked branch, her hand steady on a trunk, following him. They walk. My dad doesn’t like it here, Xie says. No? No. I mean, I think he just, um. Misses blending in a bit more. Him blending in, or you? Both, I guess. Squinting. Well, it’s just been a couple of years, right? That’s not that long. It takes a while to find where you fit in. A little pause. She watches him. But this is your place, isn’t it? Yeah, he says. Quiet. Fern brushing his shin. But I don’t know if it’s enough. Enough for what? He shrugs. Doesn’t answer. She puts the baggie back in her pocket, swallows the last of the celery. Brushing the knee of her jeans. They are almost at the center of the woods.