Walk through the park downtown on the way home from the garden store, cucumber seeds in his pocket. Brown grass, broken swings, sagging chain-link softball cages; why be here when you could be. Anywhere in the woods. A slim column of smoke twists up from the barbecue pits on the other side of the cinder-block restrooms; voices, laughter. A chill. Have to go around to get to the fountain. Shot of dread in your chest when you see: Ryan Moore and a dozen others at one of the pits. You know they see you. Shaking as you bend your head to the fountain. Throat too tight to swallow, you let the water run out of your mouth. Frozen there for a moment. Clink of P. somewhere. If someone tried to hurt you would he. Just watch or. Hey, Moore calls. That you, Twilight? Xie straightens, wiping water from his chin. Thirsty? You want a burger to wash that down with? Laughter. We got some fresh baby deer right here. Patting the side of a red cooler. Better than tofu. Don’t even glance at them. Head down. Keep walking. But Moore’s wife, he doesn’t know her name, jogging up to Xie, puts her arm through his. Hey, wait a sec. It’s Xie, right? Her shoulder banging into his. Come have a beer. Smiling. Big silver hoops in her ears, hair in braids. Come on. Pulling on his arm. If he pulled back she’d trip, her boots have some kind of crazy high heels on them, she can barely walk. Come on, please? she says, tipping her head. We won’t bite. Promise. Gray eyes half kind. Lets her turn him around. Moore opens a can of beer, hands it to him. Dark eyes intent on his. Hollow cheeks, weak chin. Cheers, Twilight. Xie blinks. The woman, her name is Cherry, keeps her hand on his arm. Passes him a can of Pringles. You can eat these, right? Chips? A potato’s a vegetable, yeah? Not knowing what to do. He bites one in half and it shatters in his mouth. Holds the beer without drinking it. P. behind the grill, smoke in his eyes. Becoming his eyes. Take a seat, Moore says, and a hole opens up in the group, making room. So how old are you? Cherry asks, sitting down beside him on a plastic crate. Sixteen, Xie mumbles. Cool. You driving yet? Head hunched low between his shoulders. No. Really? Shit, when I was your age I couldn’t wait to drive. I was seventeen when I got my first truck. You see that blue one over there? That’s my baby. He glances. Spotless chrome. Enormous wheels. Nice, he whispers. She drinks, arm still through Xie’s. Aware that everyone is watching. Cherry with her small talk holding them off. Drink up, she says. You don’t want that to go flat. He sips the beer. Try not to make a face. The sky as gray as a dirty glove. Facing the grill, just a few feet away, the lid of the cooler open to show its slick cargo.