On Sunday we go canoeing. We never go canoeing. This is what families do when something big and weird happens. They do things they never did before. So we go canoeing. It’s still warm, but not hot. The lake is big and motors aren’t allowed, so it’s quiet. We see herons and egrets and a turtle sunning itself on a log.

Mom has to work on Monday, but I have the day off because of the big lie. So Grandad and I sit around, play backgammon, and watch a movie that tells the truth. It’s called Blackfish and it’s about orcas in captivity and what their lives are really like, and it’s really sad. After that, we put on the punk rock records he bought me and he tries to teach me how to dance punk rock.

“Here’s the thing: There is no specific way to dance to this stuff,” he tells me.

“Usually they just throw themselves around the mash pit or whatever it’s called,” I say.

“Mosh, I think.”

“I just like doing this.” I stand and tap my foot and bang my head to the beat.

“You do you,” he says, and then thrashes himself around his flat like he has helicopter blades for arms.

At dinner, we talk about the Lenape tribe, and we recognize and thank them before we eat. People do that in a lot of countries that took land from Indigenous populations and Mom does it before every event at her work. It’s called Indigenous Land Acknowledgment and today seems the perfect day to start doing it at our house.

Tuesday is normal. It’s still hotter than it should be and I think it’s affecting us. In math class, I can’t remember anything we learned last week.

After lunch, we have library class. We’ve been learning how to research and I’m still trying to find any articles about books being censored like ours are. I hear Denis and Marci talking in the shelves behind me, so I get up from the computer station and stand closer.

“Mac totally likes you,” Denis says. My heart drops into my shoes and I feel a sudden need to run while my body stays completely still.

“He does?” Marci asks.

“A lot.” I don’t know how to feel—other than like an office guy.

“Huh. I thought he thought I was bossy,” Marci says.

“You are bossy,” Denis answers.

There’s silence that scares me a little and the two of them start laughing.

“Huh,” she says.

“Why not go to the homecoming dance with him and figure out if you like him?” Denis offers.

Marci laughs through her nose. “Oh, I like him. I’ve liked him since fourth grade. Did he send you to tell me this? Why isn’t he telling me himself?”

“He doesn’t even know I’m telling you,” Denis says. Part of me wants to be angry when Denis says this, but honestly, I’m glad he’s telling her. Now I don’t have to.

“Oh.”

“He can’t stop talking about you and I’m getting sick of it,” Denis says. A complete lie. I don’t ever talk about Marci. “And if you go to this dance with him, then he might stop or the two of you can kiss or whatever and it will just get all of that weird stuff over with.”

“You make it sound like it’s not normal.”

“I don’t want to kiss anyone ever, and that’s just how I am,” Denis says.

“Ever?” Marci asks.

“I’ve never even had a crush,” Denis says.

“Huh,” Marci says.

“What?”

“What if you knew that I liked you once?” Marci says. “Does that make you like me back?”

“No,” Denis says. “Sorry. I really love you as a friend, though. I think you’re really smart and great!”

I can hear the crack in Denis’s voice and I know I should rescue him. I slowly walk up the side passage between rows of books. I act like I’m really thinking about something deep, and then I look up and see the two of them there and say, “Oh, hey. I was just looking for you.”

“Hi, Mac,” Marci says.

“Hey, Marci,” I say. I smile.

“Is it true that Denis has never had a crush?” Marci asks. Denis looks at me and smiles crooked.

“It’s true,” I say.

“Huh,” she says.

“More crush energy for the rest of us.” I smile at Marci.

Marci smiles back.

I feel like I’m going to puke up all my lunch.

When I get home, Grandad is in the yard meditating again. I don’t want to interrupt him, so I turn back and head inside, when he says, “Don’t go! Come. Join me.”

“I really can’t,” I say.

“I’m not asking you to do anything but sit down,” he says.

I walk to him and sit down.

“Doesn’t the grass feel good in your toes?” he asks.

I still have my shoes on. I take them off. I’m self-conscious because I know people say boys’ feet smell, but I take my socks off, too, and put my toes in the grass.

“You’re tense,” he says.

“I guess I always am.”

“Nah. You’re a chill guy. Your gram always said you were a little lamb.” His eyes are closed and he’s smiling as he says this. He looks so at peace. Breathes in. Breathes out. “You’re just in a choppy ocean at the moment.”

The grass is making my toes itch. Things just feel wrong here on the tiny lawn with the neighbors watching. They probably think Grandad is a weirdo for sitting here breathing and humming all the time, rubbing magic beads.

“Good day at school?” he asks.

“Yeah. Just normal.”

“Any news on the school board meeting?”

“As far as I know, they’re going to let us talk. Marci said she got approval,” I say. “Now we have to find ways to get more people to help us.”

“We’ll keep protesting on Saturdays,” he says.

“Yeah, I have to go. I have homework.”

This is a lie. I feel bad lying to Grandad but I’m still processing the fact that Marci has liked me since fourth grade.