“Part-time overnight valet. Still have to run packages during the day. My dad is such a hard ass.” He looks pleased with himself. “But it’s a job.”

He doesn’t ask about my brothers. Just says “Have a nice evening” and steps back. We both raise a hand as the doors close. Suddenly, I see a camera flash, like a strobe light, in the corner of my eye. My vision blurs. An afterimage burns on my retina. It’s me but in memory, years younger, almost sixteen. I’m walking past Nate’s bedroom, where he, Billy, and Joey are sitting on the floor, stoned. Nate shuffles a deck of cards. The TV blares. On the screen a naked woman spreads her legs. None of the boys are paying attention. Seeing them together, I get panicky. Joey works for his dad a few days a week. Occasionally, he stops by our house to get high with my brothers. They watch porn; rather, porn plays in the background.

Back in June, when I first spoke to Haggerty, I didn’t bring up Billy’s extracurricular activities. I wanted to present him as pure of heart, mind, and body. So, I didn’t mention that many elite runners (former elite runners) are habitual stoners. Athletes who compete at Billy’s level truly are machines. The mental and physical pressure is punishing in ways we civilians can’t conceive. Marijuana modulates heartrate and stabilizes mood swings. Billy vapes, which his coaches ignored when he was breaking records, but once Diana Holly came along, and he started winning less (never say losing), they told him to buck up or get out. Ultimately, the weed doesn’t matter. It’s legal, and no worse than alcohol. So why describe him as a pothead whose habit got him booted off the team? As Eleanor says, why borrow trouble?

Same with pornography. For our generation, porn is easily accessible and always available, a utilitarian activity to blow off steam. It’s different for Eleanor and Lawrence, who weren’t raised on the internet. It would disturb them that Nate was eight the first time he saw a Triple-X video. Billy was likely younger. (I was ten, but it was inadvertent. I clicked the wrong movie on Nate’s phone.) For my parents’ generation, porn is dirty. The men who watch it, sketchy. Nor would it occur to them that women watch voluntarily. My brothers and their friends, however, make no such judgments.

“Cassie!” In my memory, Nate calls to me, but I keep moving.

“Heading out!” I shout. I have nowhere to go but can’t be around Joey.