John B’s voice is quiet but firm as he speaks, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the skin of your arm. “All I’m saying is… I think Stanford would be cool.”

The two of you sit nestled in the sand at the Boneyard, leaning back against a fallen log. The weight of an inevitable conversation hangs between you—one you’ve both been avoiding for months. College. The future. A subject neither of you can seem to agree on.

“They have a good engineering program,” he continues, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “I thought… maybe it’s something I’d be good at. Don’t you think?” His eyes flick to yours, searching for reassurance.

But you don’t respond.

He exhales, shifting his position. With one smooth motion, he pulls your legs over his lap, turning you toward him. His hand finds your chin, tilting your face up until you have no choice but to meet his gaze.

“We can’t do this forever,” he says, his voice steady but laced with something vulnerable. “We can’t keep chasing things that lead nowhere—doing nothing for ourselves. At some point, we have to grow up. Be actual adults.” He swallows hard before adding, “If you don’t want to do that… then I’ll go to California alone.”