“Craig,” he says, in that tone that’s like, I’m one step away from middle-naming you.”

“Soon we're both frowning hard at the paperwork. "Middle name?" Noah says. "Does Gideon even have a middle name?""I don't know"Noah turns to me and says, "Do you have a middle name?" his glare implying that, if I do, this whole thing is somehow my fault."I...have no idea.""Primary language spoken at home." Noah makes a face. "What does this mean? Our primary language? Gideon's? That's sort of why we're here...""Um, it's under family, so I'm guessing ours?""Well..." Noah lowers his pen. The paperwork has defeated him. "What's our primary language?""English? ASL? Physical affection?""Food?" Noah says."Food's a good guess."He picks up the pen. "I'm writing food, comma passive aggressive.""Good call.”

“They scoot away from each other as soon as I open the door, like they’re afraid that their cuddling will bruise my eyes.”

“Will coos, “Jo.” I pretend he’s saying my name. I pretend he’s calling me back.”

“He says, "But it is really whatever, you know? You've saved me way more times. And we call ourselves friends."It doesn't matter what we call ourselves, really. "You already saved me," I say."That was nothing.""I'm not talking about the cave."He wrinkles his nose."That first day," I say, "When you got up on the rocks to flirt with a human boy."He smiles big, with all his ground-down teeth shining.”

“Dad laughs. “You want to take a break? Go play with them?”The problem is I’m sixteen, almost seventeen, and I don’t want to play with them as much as I want to want to play with them. Maybe this feeling is what Noah’s been running from.”

“I’m bored of this. I want to hear about you. Favorite color. Go.”I laugh. “Green.”“I’m green!”“Fuck yeah you are.”“Why are you laughing? Isn’t this what friends do?”“Interrogate each other?”“What? Uh, sure. I don’t know what that means. But yes.”