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look they get when they won’t put up with much, a look that feels like a gun pointed at your head.
    “Come on,” Michael says. He grabs my arm and pulls me toward the stairs.
    Upstairs in our room, I ask Michael if he thinks they were listening to us. There’s a rumor going around that an alien was killed by rebels out west somewhere, and I think they’ve been watching us more closely. Michael says there are no rebels, that it’s just wishful thinking.
    He says, “Anyway, why would they care what we say?”
    “Maybe they’re worried. Maybe there
are
rebels.”
    “There are no rebels,” he says again.
    But here’s the thing I think later. If they’re worried, there must be a reason they’re worried. I know that when you’re in a wrestling match and you think you’re beat, you’ll lose. It’s true in martial arts and football for that matter, too. People convince themselves into losing all the time. The best, in terms of strength and talent, don’t always win. It may even be the biggest reason sports are interesting.
    We think the Sans can’t be defeated, but what if we’ve convinced ourselves we have no chance and so we have no chance? What if there are rebels out west that haven’t been killed or captured by the self-proclaimed most powerful beings in the known universe? It would change things. Just the thought is like a warm blanket on a cold night to me. Maybe we aren’t helpless.

The next night, as I head up to our room, I see Michael coming out of the couples’ room (that’s what they call the room where they allow us to hook up) with Lindsey. They’re both smiling and they kiss and say their reluctant good-byes at the top of the stairs. I wait for Michael at the door to our bedroom.
    “Dude,” I say. “You didn’t.”
    “I did,” he says. “I did and did and did and —”
    “Okay, I get it.”
    “That’s one crazy girl,” he says. “She told me she was making some kind of fuss the other day and one of the Handlers asked her if she wanted to be dead. You know what she said?”
    “‘No’ would have been a good answer.”
    “She said, ‘What do you frickin’ think?’”
    I shake my head, but I do have to admire her.
    “She likes the way we look together. My black against her white and blond.”
    “That’s so sweet,” I say.
    “Sometimes you sound like a girl,” he says.
    “Sometimes you sound like a dick.”
    “Better a dick than a girl.”
    “Shut up,” I say.
    He laughs. “Yeah, you’re jealous. Tex is jealous.”
    “A little.”
    “She’d be perfect if she didn’t talk so much,” he says.
    “That’s just wrong,” I say.
    “Yeah, but it feels so right.”
    “Shut up,” I say again.
    He just laughs. He’s in too good a mood for anything to disturb it. Then I really am jealous.

Lauren and I are eating dinner the next night. She’s picking at her food. I ask her if she’s all right.
    “I was just missing my mom.”
    “I’m sorry,” I say.
    She smiles that sad smile of hers. “You would have liked her. She had a good sense of humor. She was an awesome nurse. She was always trying to get me to slow down, but she supported me in everything I did.”
    “She sounds great,” I say.
    “I miss her.”
    We’re both silent then.
    I see Michael come off the cafeteria line with his tray.
    “Michael,” I call.
    He nods but doesn’t come right away. I realize he’s waiting for someone. Then I realize that that someone is Lindsey. They’re smiling mindlessly at each other as they walk toward us.
    “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lauren says.
    Michael and Lindsey sit down. Lauren pretends to find her food, which is some kind of vegetarian stew, fascinating. “This is really good,” Michael says. “Even my mother would have to admit this is really good.”
    Michael eats, well, like a football player. He shovels food in. His spoon bangs against his bowl like the ringing of a bell. Within a brief minute or two, everything is gone. He looks like he