“I wanted to go to the farms,” she said.

“Really?” he asked, almost incredulous.

“Is it such a surprise?”

“You don’t seem like the type.”

“What type do I seem like?” she asked.

“I dunno… like… a city girl? Like you’re probably into gymnastics or dance or something.”

Annoying. Like she was constantly being pushed and pulled and tugged and everything was more leverage for that kind of stuff.

“I am,” she said, adjusting her hair, restless. Her tone was angry. “I dance. But that doesn’t mean it’s all I’m about.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

The conversation died again. She sat there, watching over her cousin’s shoulder to see the screen. A woman with no face killed a clown. A child on fire killed the woman with no face.

She looked away, bored.

“They’re taking a while,” the boy said.

“You’ve been sitting here a while too,” she retorted, embarrassed over her family.

“My dad’s sick. He’s getting a medical checkup.”

“Sorry to hear that,” she told him.

“I’m really bad at this,” he said, abrupt, like he was using the fact they’d exchanged a handful of words in this fragment of conversation as a point from which to launch into something else. “I mean… talking to girls.”

“Why does that even matter?” she asked, stung, even more annoyed, and angry for reasons she couldn’t articulate. “Why do I have to be a girl? Why can’t I just be a person?”

“Do you mean, like, in-between boy and girl or—”

“No,” she said, with more intensity than she wanted. “I mean talk to me like I’m a potential friend, not like… I don’t know. Like you want something from me. Why does it have to be a boy-girl thing? Why can’t it be a person-person thing?”

With that, she thought she’d killed the conversation, and he’d walk away. But he nudged her.

His hand was stuck out.

Carefully, she twisted around so she could shake it.

“I’m Sam,” he told her.

“I’m Hunter,” she answered, still tense, still annoyed. But telling him to piss off and go gargle a dildo right now would be unfair when she’d just told him to be friendly.

“And I’m sorry,” he told her. “You’re right.”

She bit her lip, blinking fiercely a few times, moisture accumulating on her eyeballs. Every second she fought it, it got worse.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I didn’t—”

She shook her head. “You didn’t.”

She wiped at her eyes, angry at herself, annoyed.

“Then… want to talk about it?”