I finished my carrots. He offered me half his CLIF Bar.

“Adopted is not an adjective,” he said.

“Joellen says that. It’s an event that happens, not who you are. As an adjective it implies inherent bullshit about a person that isn’t true. A person is not ‘adopted.’ They were adopted. Words matter.”

“They do.”

“Sean. Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Nice?” He pulled off his hat and ran his hands through his hair, a thing I gladly would have done for him—I’m a mess. “I’ve never had anyone to talk with like we do. I’ve never known anyone, ever, like you. I’m not being nice; I’m trying to change your mind.”

He moved nearer; I stayed still, and he leaned in to kiss me. I gave in, closed my eyes.

Then the guitar was there. And so was Natan’s braying laugh.

“Ooooh, dipping your pen in the company ink, little guy? Listen, you like this song? I was telling Muiriel earlier, you know the title is a little goof for us naturalists, it’s the name of—”

I stood and yanked the guitar from his hands.

“The Ring of Fire is a horseshoe-shaped series of trenches and volcanic belts in the Pacific Ocean where a shit ton of earthquakes and volcanic activity happen all the goddamned time, and it includes the volcanoes in the Pacific Ring of Fire, the star of which is our very own Mount Rainier, more correctly known by its Salish name, Tahoma, and many volcanologists and seismologists think maybe Seattle is due for intense plate movement, causing an earthquake that would send the entire Pacific Northwest into the Puget Sound, killing us all, which, when I’m at work lately, makes me hope it happens sooner rather than later, but really cool story, bro.” I stalked off to gather my stuff, dropped the stupid guitar on Jane’s desk, and walked, fast, down the winding forest road to the bus stop.

“Muir,” Sean called, running to catch up. “Wait.” We walked together, not talking for a while.

“You are so smart I can’t stand it,” he finally said.

He stopped in the middle of the road. “Francine talked to my mom,” he said. “It wouldn’t happen again; we would never be late.”

“Sean.”

“Muir. I’m here. Kira’s here, Francine is here.”

“Yes,” I said. “Right now, you are.”

“Where do you think we’re going?”

“I don’t know.”

“Or are you going? Are you leaving the second you graduate?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, then what? What can I do to convince you?”

“Convince me of what? I’ve known you and Kira and Francine for five weeks.”

“I mean. More like six.”

“Stop it,” I half laughed. “Don’t be funny.”

“I’m trying to convince you to let us be with you. Let me.”

“But you can’t be with me forever.”

“How do you know?”