“Twenty minutes 'til 9, we're getting in the truck. I'm sweaty,stinky and covered in red mud. I'm not sure what Logan smellslike and I don't plan on getting close enough to find out.“What do you wanna be when you grow up?” he asks, as weride along the quiet, foggy, gravel road in the dark.“Alive,” I say, thoughtlessly.“I like that. Aim low,” he retorts.”

“What?" I ask. I don't get anything about this day. Everything is just off."Are you sure?""Am I sure where I live? Yeah. Steeple Drive.""Your cabin is on this road?""Is it just me, or is everything I'm saying slightly freaking you out?”

“Wanna hang out for a bit?" "You tryin' to get in my pants now that you know I'm queer?" he asked in an impudent tone. "No!""Yeah.""Yeah, what?""Yeah, I wanna hang out." He smiled over at me.”

“This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.I don't plan it.When I'm outside the saying of it,I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.”

“I'm never going to get used to that," he said, smiling. "Used to what?""The way I feel like I'm going to explode every time you come close. The way my head fills up with just you when you do that.”

“I think we can do it.""But you don't know for sure," he said."No.""Geez, Anita.""Don't get rattled on me. We can do this.""But you aren't sure.""I'm not sure we'll survive the plane ride home, but I'm still getting on the plane.""Was that supposed to be comforting?" he asked."Yeah.""It wasn't," he said."Sorry, but this is as good as it gets. You want certainty, be an accountant.""I'm not good at math.""Me either.”