Bart and I sat there quiet.

I thought about how I had no idea who he was and how he had no idea who I was and yet I still felt like there was something holding us together.

Someone in the KOA Park turned on the radio and music started. Country music.

What if we started dancing?

What if he took my hand and pulled me up and I said, “What are you doing?” And he said, “What do you think I’m doing?” and then we slow danced on the tramp. Right there. On a crappy Saturday.

Bart looked at me. My heart fluttered.

Then he said, “But I want to go to all those places.”

I said, “What places?”

And he said, “What?”

And I said, “What?”

And he said, “Those places. Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, West Virginia.”

I swallowed. “Me too. I want to go everywhere.”

“You do?”

I said, “Yes.”

He said, “Everywhere?”

I said, “Yeah, everywhere.”

“Even Mongolia?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

“It’s cold.”

“I don’t care,” I said, and he smiled.

Then I said, “Is your name Harrison?”

And he said, “That’s my code name.”

I said, “Oh.”

And I said, “Is Bart your real name?”

And he said, “That’s my FBI name.”

“Your FBI name?”

And he said, “I told you it’s a long story,” and I said, “Ha-ha.”

And he said, “Ha-ha” back.

And I said, “So you really are in the FBI?”

He said, “I can’t say.”

And even if he was lying, which he was, I thought maybe if he was in the FBI, he could help me find my dad. Or at least help me find out if he was trash. Or if he had a girlfriend.

But he was lying. So I said, “Shut up.”

He said, “Okay.”

And I said, “UGH.” Then I said, “What’s your real name?”

And he said, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” which I hated.

So I said, “Will you be in our neighborhood circus?”

And he said, “Sure.”