“We work together,” Sean said. “Muiriel, I figured you ferried from the city—do you live here?”

“You what together?” Kira said. “Five minutes and you know Sean and you have a job?”

I could not look directly at him. “I’m highly motivated,” I said.

“And making some powerful-ass vision boards?” Kira shook her head. “Don’t ever let me introduce you to my parents.”

“Kira, how’s your summer?” Sean asked. God, this guy was so…sunny? Genuinely cheerful. Or maybe I’ve just been living with sad, scared kids for so long I’ve lost the metric of normal emotion, and now baseline happy looks like a person living in a perpetual surprise party. Ice cream! Sunshine! Hey, I know you!

“Living the dream, schlepping toast and coffee,” Kira chirped, and to me she said, “Explain the work situation.”

“Salishwood,” Sean and I said in unison.

“I saw the flyer at Blackbird,” I told Kira. “I’ve only worked one day.”

“Your first day was the best day I’ve had all summer,” Sean said. “Jason was the worst, and Natan is…”

“Worse?” I offered.

“Exactly. Thank God you’re there.” He smiled. “And here—when did you move? You’re going to school? Please tell me you’re a senior.”

Kira watched this exchange, nodding through her gum chewing. “She’s with us,” she said. “Class of Get the Hell off This Island.”

“I don’t want the hell off,” he said.

“You do,” Kira said. “You want to live on a mountain in a Bob Ross cabin and, like, write poems about the sunrise. Don’t lie to yourself.”

“I could build a cabin here, and I don’t write poems—they’re called sonnets,” he said. “Muiriel, do you like it so far? Want the hell off yet?”

“Not yet,” I said, in a voice thinner and three octaves higher than my own. Jesus.

“Good,” Sean said. “Please don’t ever leave. Being alone with Natan every day was a nightmare. And the kids loved you.”

“Sean-y!” A laughing voice pierced the crowd. “We need you!”

The three of us turned to see Tiana—of course, because that’s how school goes for me—surrounded by a group of kids our age, the girls’ long arms beckoning frantically for Sean to Come on! Come here! All of them admittedly beautiful, cute shorts and blouses, shining hair, perfect teeth. I ran my tongue over my own.

Not crooked, exactly, not like a jack-o’-lantern, and, yes, immaculately clean—but definitely not perfect. Braces, like phones and nonutilitarian clothing, are not necessities. They are luxuries I had no need for, no access to even if I did want them. It’s possible to remain alive without straight teeth and stylish outfits. Alive is all that matters.

Still.