Adrienne's eyes followed a falling spot of ash from her cigarette. “Yeah, we've done this before—over the phone, then, but it's all the same. It doesn't matter. I should have known you were leaving, anyway. It was a good opportunity for you.” She brushed her short, black hair from her soft eyes, but she still wouldn't look at him. She was watching the lights of the city skyline.

So Jesse did too, for a while. He watched the headlights of lonely cars searching their dark neighborhoods for home. And then he got antsy. “Why doesn't Devin see it that way?”

She sighed and looked down. “He's just protective.” She dropped the cigarette onto the banister and turned to him. “Jesse, Devin told me you quit college. If that's true then what was the point? Why did we put ourselves through this?” Her eyes weren't soft.

He looked down at her longboard and inhaled deeply. “I just couldn't do it. I didn't feel like me anymore; I felt alone.” He couldn't tell whether his cheeks were becoming flush or numb as the temperature continued to drop. He sighed. “I just can't make myself care about it anymore. All the stupid plants and shit. I was done. Whatever part of me wanted to be a botanist is gone.”

“So?”

He looked up at her. “What do you mean, 'So?'” he asked. “I was failing my Bio classes. It wasn't exciting anymore.” He stood, shivered, and leaned on the opposite railing.

“Someone called Fred looking for you while you were out here. Your stepdad I guess. Fred said it's the second call he's had for you.”

“God. I wish the man would just leave me alone.” Jesse's fingers had grown adept at finding their anxious path through his unkempt hair. They were wet from dew, and he tried and failed to dry them on his sleeve.

She looked at him. “At least he cares about you.”

“I can't talk to him, Adrienne,” Jesse said. “I barely even know him. He's like a concerned coworker.” He wished for his jacket and took another deep breath. “Whatever. It doesn't matter. If I go home they'll sit me down and say how disappointed they are in me and then they'll make me go back next semester. I can't do it.” His phone began vibrating in his pocket, so he held down the power button.

“You have to.” She took a drag on the cigarette, its crumpled body losing structure. “Not go back to college—but you have to go home. You should tell them what you've told me.”