Jo at graduation. They all go. Even Erik. Sit in the stands with Leni, Jo’s parents on their left, curt hellos. It will never stop being a surprise. How much people dislike you. Sit there and don’t look at anyone. Let your father brush the hood back from your face. Smile so wide when you see Jo in her blue cap and gown, her hair brushed straight back over her head, clean, shiny. You don’t believe in any of it but. Believe in her. Clap. Whistle. Leni screaming, WE LOVE YOU, JO! Jo dropping a heavy curtsy, shaking the principal’s hand, 4.2 GPA. Leni always said she didn’t even have to try. But she tries at everything. Proving something. That she can be what she wants, an outcast and a nerd and a rich kid and an anarchist and a credit to her school and a threat to her nation. James Moore’s shoulder next to hers as they stand for a class photo. Turning afterward to shake her hand. The sun so strong. Erik kissing her cheek. Proud of you. She smiles. Why, thank you, Mr. Lauridsen. I’m proud of you, too. Flinging her cap in the trash, ruffling her hair, Fuck, let’s get out of here.

Dark club to celebrate. Forty-five minutes in the car, some crazy music blasting. Xie yelling, What is this? What? What is this! he screams again. The Knife! Leni yells in his ear, fishnet top and tiny black bra, concave thighs in a skirt cut from something longer, frayed uneven edge against her bare skin. You didn’t dress up, she complained when she saw him but Xie smiled, coy, Yes, I did, and she shrieked, seeing the eyeliner traced along his lashes. Jo’s hair spiked so high it rivals even P.’s helmet in its glory. Smoking in the car with the windows up, Xie recalling the time in Jo’s room, crawling along the carpet, a lifetime ago. Doesn’t put his mouth on the joint when it is passed his way but holds it for Leni, her lips barely touching his fingers. Roads and roads and roads. Avoiding the interstate. At the edge of the university town an abandoned building. Unlit street. Code word and no IDs, Leni looking over her shoulder at Xie with a grin. Inside a room the size of the library, concrete pillars painted black and graffiti everywhere. Blue light and so hot, a DJ in the corner and kegs of beer, a shelf nailed to one long wall to serve as a bar, stacked with plastic cups. Jugs of water. Stenciled on the wall: STAY SAFE. Absolute crush of bodies. Sea of heads. Like a protest but better. Jo and Leni get beers and he drinks water. Refusing the new joint Jo lights. Leni cutting right into the dance floor after her first drink, arms up, rhythmless. Jo’s last deep inhale, brow furrowed, smoke packed at the back of her throat. You want to dance? Yeah, in a minute, I. Just have to. Get used to it. After a long critical look Jo says, You have a thing. About crowds. He snorts. News flash. All right, but you are fucking dancing tonight, so. Drink your water and meditate or whatever you have to do before I drag your ass out here. Xie nods. Yes, sir. Jo going after Leni, folding into the mass of flesh. Nice that for a while no one is noticing him or expecting anything of him, he can just. Stand here. Do nothing. All these young people. Not angry or sad or making plans or. Anything. Just get out of your head. And even against the wall it feels good. To be here. Lose track of time. Eventually Leni iridescent with sweat struggling through the crowd to put her hand on his wrist. Come on. No patience for the split second of his hesitation: If you don’t drink and won’t smoke and won’t dance you’re not going to enjoy yourself. He shrugs. I’m enjoying myself. She wipes her forehead on her arm. Come on. Her hands on his wrists. Jo coming over, What did I tell you about this fucking hoodie, Xie? Grabbing the bottom and yanking it over his head. Oh my god, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your arms.