I watched as Atticus paced back and forth, the light from the streetlamp casting long shadows behind him. He was rambling about something—probably saving the planet or how the world could be better, though I could barely keep up. He always got this excited, like the future was right there, within his reach. His hands moved animatedly as he talked, every word like a spark.

"You don’t get it," he said, his voice full of hope and passion. "This isn’t just about fixing things. It’s about changing them. We can make everything better—together."

I smiled, leaning against the lamppost. "You’re right. We can make it better. I mean, look at us, Atticus. We’re already doing it."

He stopped pacing and turned to look at me, his eyes wide, like he couldn’t believe I was agreeing with him. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips, and he took a step closer.

"I knew you'd get it," he said, his voice soft but filled with all the excitement he couldn’t hold back. "We’ve got a shot. We’re making a difference right now, just by... well, being us."