People live on the frozen tundra. People survive penal colonies, years of solitary imprisonment and concentration camps. People live through wars, disease, famine, and personal tragedies that could make the mountains cry. When you think about it like that, what’s Simon Copeland compared to the Black Death, slavery, the Trail of Tears, concentration camps, or Stalin’s gulag camps? Not even a minor irritation, really. He’s just a good-looking boy who can tackle. Some day he’ll be a lot less good-looking and he’ll be lucky if he can walk, never mind tackle, because of old football injuries. Who’ll be laughing then? With these thoughts firm in his mind, Josh gets used to the idea that Jena has a boyfriend. More or less.

Hope is an odd thing. Looked at logically, hope is no more than a wish that things turn out well or get better. Whatever we do — get in cars, climb mountains, walk down the street, eat junk food, paddle across the Atlantic in a kayak, play roulette — we do because we trust that everything will be all right; we hope so. That the car won’t crash, that we won’t fall off the mountain, that we won’t be struck by lightning, that we won’t destroy our body, that we won’t be lost at sea — that we’ll win. If we knew for certain that we’d die in an auto accident, disappear into an abyss, have a heart attack in the parking lot where we stopped for ice cream, drown, or lose every cent we had, we wouldn’t do any of those things. Indeed, if we didn’t live in hope more than in reality, few of us would bother getting up in the morning. What’s the point? We’re all doomed.

Josh may have accepted the fact of Simon, but he was still holding on to the hope that he could sit Simon out. Okay, he told himself, Simon made it through the first-date test, and on into the second and third dates and official boyfriend status, but how long could it be before some fatal flaw surfaced? Eventually, Simon would blow over like a storm cloud, and the sun would shine on Josh once more. But then he met Simon, and Hope became ill and began to fade fast. Even Josh can see that Simon is pretty terrific (if you like that kind of thing). Pleasant. Friendly. Personable. Simon likes who he is, so everybody else likes him, too. If he knows insecurity it’s as something that happens to others. Simon is the teenager adults love — popular, talented, a natural at everything. The kid they want their children to be. No problems here. No dark depths or unpleasant surprises. No doubts about his future, either. They can imagine the man he’ll grow into and they like him, too. Simon is the anti-weird, the boy you can rely on to do what you think he should. No wonder the General loves him. No wonder Jena thinks the center of our solar system has shifted from the sun to the star linebacker of Smittstown High. Every new thing Josh hears about Simon adds a new symptom to Hope’s malady. Headache. Fever. Difficulty breathing. Arrhythmia. Dizzy spells. Nausea.

Mercifully, Simon could only be busier if he never slept. Besides school and all his extracurricular activities, he coaches an elementary school team and works part-time for his father’s landscaping firm. Jena usually sees him only on weekends. “Thank God we live in the twenty-first century,” says Jena. “At least we can pretty much be together even if we’re apart.” They spend hours together every night — he in his house and she in hers. You have to hope they have good cell phone plans. “I mean, really, can you imagine if we didn’t have Snapchat? I’d probably forget what he looks like!”

What a shame that would be.

Josh is philosophical about his own lack of opportunities to see Simon again. As far as Josh is concerned, meeting Simon is one of those things, like nearly drowning, that you only have to do once to know you don’t really want to do it again. But Fate, of course, has other ideas. Josh has done his best to forget what Simon looks like and almost succeeded when — like a gift from a bad fairy determined to ruin your holidays — he sees him again.

It’s only days before Christmas. Every weekend in December, Josh has been busking by the war memorial at the foot of town, where the buses to the mall stop. Ramona, working in the gallery, makes him eat his lunch in the office with her and brings him cups of herbal tea through the day so he doesn’t perish from the cold. Sometimes Sal, who has a seasonal job at the gourmet deli, joins them.

One Saturday Ramona turned up in a red cape with a silver ribbon wound through her hair and her violin under her arm. “People want to hear carols and ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,’” said Ramona. “Not ‘Columbus Stockade Blues.’” He made more money in an hour than he was making in a day, and the crowd that had gathered sang along to “O Holy Night.” “I figured if I didn’t help out you’d never get enough to buy all your presents,” said Ramona. Among other things, a necklace for his mother, a new scratch pad for Charley Patton, a cookbook for his uncles, and a silver tree charm for Jena. He didn’t mention the charm. “You don’t think maybe you’re stereotyping?” asked Ramona. Because he was getting Charley a scratch pad? “No, dope. Because you’re getting your uncles a cookbook.” Josh pointed out that they like to cook.

On this Saturday, however, Josh is alone — and oddly missing Ramona. Ramona is not only fun to play with but attracts a crowd — possibly because she plays so well, or possibly because of the red cape, or possibly because, with him beside her, it looks as if she’s brought an elf with her for the occasion. He’s playing a spirited version of “Here Comes Santa Claus” when someone throws five dollars into his case. He looks over to see Jenevieve Capistrano smiling at him. Beside her is Simon Copeland; Simon Copeland isn’t smiling. When Josh finishes the song Jena claps so much that even people just passing by join in. Though not Simon, who stands straight and tight — as if he’s desperate to get to the bathroom.

“That was great,” says Jena. “You’re really good.” Which seems to come as a surprise. “I didn’t know you played stuff like that. I thought you only did old songs.”

“That is an old song. You missed ‘God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen.’ That’s even older.”

She laughs. “You know what I mean. Folk music.”

“Blues mainly,” says Josh. “But I try not to be inflexible.”

She puts a hand on Simon’s arm. “You remember Simon.”

“How could I forget?”

“And I remember Josh,” says Simon. Making it clear why he remembers him — because he was Dumpster diving and fell off a garbage can — without actually saying so. He nods at the open guitar case. “I’m surprised they let you busk down here. Isn’t there a town ordinance?” Making it clear that he thinks busking is one very small step away from begging and not necessarily in the right direction — but without actually saying that either.

“It’s Christmas,” says Josh. “Peace and goodwill to all men, right?” Though, on second thought, perhaps not every last man.

Simon smiles. “Right.”

“We’re on our way to the Moon and Sixpence,” says Jena. “Simon’s looking for something for his mom.”

Simon nods. “My mom loves Americana.”

“Well, that’s the place to go,” says Josh. “If Betsy Ross were alive she’d be selling her flags there.”

“Tilda’s having her party tonight,” offers Jena. “I figure I can get her a little something there, too. Maybe earrings.”

“Good idea,” says Josh. “I did notice she definitely has ears.”

He will probably never make Simon laugh.

They stand there smiling at each other for a few seconds, awkward as cats on stilts. Around them the town bustles — talk and laughter, traffic and hurrying feet — but they’ve become the Bermuda Triangle of Parsons Falls, still smiling but silent.

Simon adjusts his arm around Jena. “You play something, don’t you? I mean besides the guitar. What is it again?”

“The mandolin,” says Josh. “Mandolin and guitar. And a little harmonica.”

Simon’s smile does nothing to warm the afternoon. He shakes his head. “No, I meant, what game?”

“Chess.”

“Oh, right,” says Simon. And finally laughs. “I knew it couldn’t be basketball.”