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sometime.”
    “Maybe.” I meet his gaze. It’s a quick thing, a passing of eye contact, half smiles, as we both move to our nextbite, but suddenly in that moment I feel a little quake in my heart, and realize I’m probably done for. No! Too soon! I tell myself to calm down. Jaded, professional, unflustered. This isn’t a date, it’s a job interview, for Caleb , not me. But oh, I am probably lying to myself. Still, I am not going to let him see it.
    We eat for a bit. The small talk is done. Now my tacos are, too. I’m not sure what to say next.
    “Back to Radiohead,” I try. “That new song you were playing before sounded like a real song, like well-crafted in the . . . you know, pre-post- OK Computer -way, but not like wannabe Radiohead, just . . . the . . .”
    Caleb grins. “I’m curious to see how you pull this out.”
    I am a flushed fool. “What I mean is that it might be a really great song.”
    “Well, thank you.”
    Annndd . . . back to silence! But this time I wait. It’s your turn, Mr. Caleb.
    Finally: “It’s kinda personal.”
    “Do I get the big story now?”
    He sees my hopeful gaze, but his face darkens. “I don’t know why I want to tell you this.”
    “But you’re going to. That was the deal. I come space traveling with you, you spill the beans. Besides, you’ve turned me to a life of crime. Now pay up.”
    “Right . . .” Caleb shifts. He wraps the unfinished half of his burrito back in foil. “I live with my mom. I neverknew my dad. She always told me that he didn’t want to stay around. That she didn’t want him around. I asked her sometimes if I could meet him, or contact him, but she said she didn’t know where he was. I could have called BS on those excuses but our life has been fine. Mom’s a social worker and she makes enough money and it’s cool. She supports my music. We could live even better if we weren’t in Mount Hope, but Mom tries to keep up with rent here so I can go to PopArts.”
    “She sounds pretty great,” I say.
    “She is, definitely.” He half unwraps his burrito again, his fingers jittery, then wraps it right back up. “What’s your parent situation?”
    “Oh, I got the standard package,” I say. “Two, mixed gender, mostly annoying, but admittedly making some good points now and then, and providing me with the material necessities and then some.”
    Caleb nods. He takes a deep breath. “So, August fifteenth was my eighteenth birthday. I had a party planned, but my uncle Randy came over the night before. That’s Mom’s younger brother. She wanted to have a birthday dinner, just the three of us. And so we’re at the dinner table and Mom’s been acting strange all day and I know something’s up.”
    He pauses again. Tears off a corner of foil and crinkles it into a tiny ball.
    “She told you something about your dad,” I guess.
    Caleb nods. “Mom decided that now that I’m eighteen Ishould know that my dad was the lead singer for Allegiance to North.”
    “Whoa.” I can barely believe what I just heard. “Really? Your dad was Eli White?”
    “The one and only. Guess he and my mom had a fling one summer, hot and heavy, but then it didn’t work out. I mean, I worked out, but they didn’t. And then . . . you know.”
    “He drowned.”
    Caleb flicks the foil ball, a little shooting star. It lands in the grass, gleaming in the sun. He starts making another. “At first, I almost felt like, whatever. I mean, he was never a part of my life. They both wanted it that way, and he sent money. We still get money from his royalties or estate or whatever.” Caleb shakes his head and glances up at the sky. “But I think I liked it better not having a dad.”
    “Why?” I ask. “Doesn’t this make you the son of a rock legend?” I can’t keep my band-manager brain from spinning ahead. “I mean, just from a publicity point of view, that’s—”
    “No,” Caleb snaps. “That’s exactly what I don’t want.” Before I can