Sloth

Chapter 9

There were no invitations. Word traveled, and everyone just knew where to show up, and when. Senior Spirit Week was for the teachers and the administration so they could feel good about offering their students some good, clean fun. But everyone knew that senior spring only officially began at midnight, in the midst of debauchery and revels. There was a spot out in the desert, a shallow wash of scrub-brush surrounded by clumps of Joshua trees on one side and a stretch of low, rocky ridges on the other. It was tradition. The cops allowed it. The administration ignored it. Parents pretended it didn’t exist-although most of them had been through it themselves, twenty years before. It signified the beginning of the end, a night of wild release that, if all went well, would be whispered about for years. Graduation was a hot, tedious hassle; prom was a chance for girls to spend too much on evening dresses and guys to get that last precollege shot at losing their virginity. This was a rite of passage.

Beth had decided not to go.

Then she changed her mind.

After an hour of flip-flopping, she was standing in front of her mirror wearing standard-issue black pants, a shim-mery blue, scoop-neck top that matched her eyes, and a sparkly bracelet she’d gotten for her birthday last year but never taken out of the box. She swept her hair up into a high, lose ponytail, wishing the long, blond strands would wave or curl or do anything other than fall limply down to her shoulders. She dabbed on some glittery gray eye shadow and a layer of clear gloss.

And she still wasn’t sure she was going to leave the house.

Her original plan had been to never leave the house again, but that seemed less than feasible.

She’d come up with a variety of rationales:

If she didn’t start acting normal, people would suspect something was going on, and she couldn’t afford that.

She would likely have a terrible time, so she didn’t need to feel guilty.

If she wasn’t going to turn herself in-because, she reminded herself, she hadn’t intentionally hurt anyone, and not because she was a pathetic coward-she had to start living her life again at some point.

None of them were nearly as persuasive as the deciding factor: Reed’s band was playing the party. And, much as she hated to admit it, she wanted to see him again.

There was nothing going on, she assured herself. She and Reed were a nonissue-even if it hadn’t been for… what had happened with Kaia. Reed was the opposite of her type, and last time she’d played that game, she’d lost big. If she was going to get involved with anyone again, it would be someone sweet and quiet, who was kind to children and animals and cared about getting into college, going to class, and doing the right thing.

Except: Why would someone like that ever want to be involved with her? She wasn’t Beth Manning, golden girl, anymore. She’d stopped going to class, probably wouldn’t get into college-and had proven once and for all that, unless it was painless, she wouldn’t do the right thing.

If she was being honest with herself, she knew she couldn’t get involved with anybody. Lonely as she was, she couldn’t afford something open, honest, or real. She couldn’t invite someone into her life and trust him with her secrets and her fears.

Still, she slipped on a jacket and wrapped a pink scarf around her neck, waved good-bye to her parents, and walked out the door. She’d never heard Reed play before, and she was just curious, she assured herself. Miserable, bored, scared, and curious. That’s all there was to it.

Miranda drained her plastic cup and stuck it under the keg, pumping until a frothy flow spurted out. It tasted like shit, but she forced it down, anyway. The world tipped a bit to the left, then righted itself before she could fall over, but she still felt like things would start spinning if she turned her head too fast.

Perfect.

There he was, less than ten feet away, standing at the fringes of a group of jocks trying to set fire to a cactus. He looked disgusted-and hot. Miranda stumbled toward him, sneaking up behind him and slapping her hands over his eyes.

“Geary,” she whispered, holding back a giggle. “Guess who?”

He spun around, and she hopped up and gave him an impulsive kiss on the cheek. “I’m drunk,” she announced giddily.

He looked her up and down, then patted her on the head. “Thanks, Captain Obvious. I got that.”

She felt so free. “You like?” she asked, twirling around to show off her outfit, a dark green corset and very un-Miranda-like skin-tight pants.

“Nice.” He ran his hand down the laced up sides of her shirt. “ Very nice.”

Before the party, she’d decided: It doesn’t count if you’re drunk. Everyone knew this party was about doing things you shouldn’t-and so why should she deny herself the one thing she knew she absolutely, under no circumstances, if she wanted to keep her sanity or her dignity, shouldn’t do? She just needed to work up a little safety buzz-get just drunk enough to serve as an excuse for anything that might happen. Anything she hoped would happen. She’d thought it all out, and it had made perfect sense.

Four beers later, she was done thinking. “You look good,” she said, stepping toward him and nearly falling as the ground shifted beneath her feet. Or, at least, it seemed to. “Whoops,” she squeaked as he caught her in his big, strong, muscular, tan arms. “Did I mention I’m a little drunk?”

“Did I mention this is a new shirt?” Kane asked wryly. “Don’t puke on it.”

He slung an arm around her waist and walked her away from the crowd, sitting her down on the ground so she wouldn’t have too far to fall.

“Hey!” she called, tugging on the leg of his jeans. “It’s lonely down here.”

Kane crouched down next to her.

“Hi!” she said in her best sultry voice, leaning toward him.

He flinched away from her breath. “Jesus-did you drink the whole keg?”

This wasn’t going right. Miranda struggled to figure out where she’d run off track, but her brain was like a seesaw, swinging wildly back and forth, up and down… and at the thought of that, she felt a wave of nausea rise in her. So she stopped thinking again and just blurted something out. “This isn’t going right.”

Oops.

“What isn’t?”

Instead of answering, Miranda leaned against him and let her head drop to her shoulder. “The music s nice, huh?”

Kane glanced over at the Blind Monkeys, who were banging something out that approximated a song. “You call this music?”

“I love your smile,” Miranda slurred, touching his lips. “It’s so… smiley.”

He frowned, took her hand, and peered into her eyes. “You in there somewhere, Stevens? ‘Cause I think some kind of pod person’s taken over your body.”

He was so funny “You’re so funny.” She laughed, her body twitching uncontrollably, until finally she pressed both her hands against her mouth to stop herself. “D’you want to kiss me?” she asked suddenly, taking her hands away and pursing her lips.

“Uh, Stevens…”

“‘Cause you can. I’m right here.” She let herself fall toward him, but at the last moment, he grabbed her shoulders and held her at arm’s length.

“I’m not sure we should-”

“Hey!” she cried, suddenly distracted. “It’s Harper!” She started waving wildly. “Harper!” But Harper was too far away. “She’s mick of see. I mean. She’s sick of me. I mean. You know. What I mean.” Some sleazy guy in cargo shorts with a studded collar around his neck was leading Harper away from the band and toward the more private, shadowy area beyond the rocks.

“You know that guy?” Kane asked suspiciously.

Miranda shook her head. The sleazeball swooped in for a kiss and Harper pulled herself away-but she wasn’t quick enough. They made out for a minute, and then the guy continued leading her away.

“She’s even drunker than me.” Miranda giggled, then stopped as a pinhole of light opened up in the dark fog of her mind. “What’s she doing with that guy? What if-?” Her happy buzz turned into an angry beehive. “We have to stop her,” she said, trying to stand up. She shook her head, but that just made things more jumbled. “We have to go, we have to-”

“Whoa. Better idea.” Kane pressed down firmly on her shoulders, settling her back on the ground. “I’ll go. You stay.”

“But I have to help, I have to-”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he assured her. “I’ll go. I’ll take care of it. Are you okay here?”

“My knight in shining armor.” She sighed, a happy glow settling over her again. Kane would take care of everything, and then he’d be back for her.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he scoffed. “Just try not to wander off and get into trouble before I get back, princess.”

As he disappeared into the crowd in search of Harper, Miranda sighed happily and lay back against the ground, staring up at the stars and wondering if she could find the Big Dipper.

He’d be back soon-and she wasn’t going anywhere.

Forgive, forget; the wavy lines on my TV

Go dark as you, betray your confidences on-

Reed broke off in disgust. The sound system was crap, and he could barely hear himself sing over the drunken crowd-not to mention the fact that he was pretty sure someone was blasting Beyoncé on a stereo not too far away. But that wasn’t the real issue.

“Fish!” he snapped, spinning around to look at the drummer. “What the hell are you doing back there?”

“Man, I forgot what song we were playing.” He giggled. “Can you believe that?”

“Dude, you’re totally baked!” Hale mocked, waving his guitar over his head. “Awesome.”

Reed knocked the microphone away in disgust. “You’re both playing for shit. Get it together.”

“Take it easy, kid,” Fish suggested. “I can fire up another one for you.”

“Let’s just play,” Reed said, half tempted, half disgusted. “‘Miles from Home,’ okay? On three? ”They nodded, and Fish counted off; Hale came into the song a half beat late but at least, Reed told himself, he’d come in at all.

I wanna get away from this place,

I wanna blow my brain, forget your face-

No one had even noticed they were playing again. By the light of the moon, Reed could see a horde of seniors milling about, making out, and lighting things on fire. Up front, next to the platform they’d put together for their stage, their single groupie danced by herself, flinging her tattoo-covered arms in the air in a wild frenzy, despite the slow and moody beat of the music. That was their audience: One goth girl who hated their music but had a not-so-secret crush on Hale.

Reed didn’t care.

Same as you always were

Too good too much too fast too far,

And all the knives into my head and all

The holes and all the time to get away-

He knew the lyrics were lame. He didn’t care about that, either. The guys all wanted to do cover songs-they’d have wrestling matches over Led Zeppelin versus Coldplay, Bright Eyes versus The Ramones-and then they’d get distracted and Reed would place the only vote that mattered. They played his music. And when he was really in the zone, it was a better high than pot. It was just him and the words and the music. It was cool.

He wasn’t in the zone.

And he couldn’t stop scanning the crowd.

I wanna get away from this place,

I wanna choke it up and spit in your face-

He stopped singing and held his breath. She was walking through the crowd, which seemed to part slightly as she passed. Her back was to the stage. Her movements were graceful and deliberate, her body slim and perfect. Her sleek black hair spun in the wind as she turned around, and he was about to whisper her name when-

It wasn’t her. Of course.

He hadn’t believed it, not really, he told himself. But he had. Just for a second, he’d let himself forget-he’d let himself believe that, somehow, it could be her.

“Awesome set!” Fish cried, slamming his stick against one of the cymbals. “Break time.”

“Set?” Reed asked, trying to remember himself. “We haven’t even gotten through one song.”

“Dude, who’s fault is that?” Hale asked, giving Reed a pointed look. (As pointed as a look could be when his eyes were half shut.) “I say break time. I’ve got…” He glanced offstage, where goth girl had stripped off her T-shirt to reveal a black leather bikini. She slowly licked her hand, from her palm up to her fingertips, then threw it to Hale as if it were a kiss. “I got stuff to do, kid.” Hale ditched the guitar and hopped off the platform, grabbing goth girl and kissing her like he was trying to Hoover her mouth right off her face.

Reed turned to exchange a glance with Fish, but the drummer had already laid his head down on the snare drum and shut his eyes. So much for the gig.

Reed stumbled off the makeshift stage and began to walk without a direction in mind. This wasn’t his scene. Some asshole in a letter jacket with a squealing girl slung over his shoulder slammed into him with a glare and a warning. “Watch it, loser!”

Definitely not his scene.

He was well away from the party and halfway to his car when he realized that he wasn’t alone. He didn’t turn around to see who was following him, figuring that whoever it was would eventually reveal themselves or, preferably, lose interest and wander away.

It took about five minutes.

“Reed?” Her voice was tentative and musical.

He turned around. “Hey.” She looked good. Reed hated himself for noticing.

“Leaving?” Beth asked. “It’s early.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I’m just…” He wasn’t leaving. He had a tent and a sleeping bag in the truck, and he had a plan. He and the guys were going to hike out to somewhere quiet and alone and have a party of their own. But the guys were useless. “… you know.”

“Yeah.” Beth gave him a wry smile. “This isn’t really my thing either.”

“Really?” She was too blond and beautiful not to be one of those girls.

“I hate parties.” There was a pause, though not an awkward one. “I guess I’m going too.”

“Unless-” He wanted to be alone. But even with her there, he felt alone-in a good way. He didn’t have to put on a show. And maybe-he remembered her tears, and the way she’d shaken in his arms-maybe there were some things she could understand. “You want to hang? You know, just for a while?”

Her eyebrows crinkled together, and there was another pause. Maybe she was trying to decide if he was good enough for her, or what the odds were of anyone seeing them together. Reed decided to forget the whole thing. But she spoke before he could. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s, uh… hang.”

“Cool,” he said, wondering if that unclenching in his shoulder blades was relief.

“Cool.”

“Baby, you are so hot!” the guy said, nuzzling his greasy head into Harper’s chest. Harper’s head lolled back, her eyes half closed. The guy’s fingers crept up her thigh and across her stomach and, encountering no resistance, began to unbutton her shirt. “I mean, damn!” he exclaimed, catching his first glimpse of her bare cleavage and pale, creamy skin. “Makes me wanna-”

“Hold that thought,” Kane drawled, clamping an iron grip around the guy’s scrawny shoulders and tossing him away. “We’ll get back to you.”

“What’s it to you?” the loser whined, trying to elbow Kane out of the way. “Jealous? She wants me.”

Kane looked down at Harper, sitting cross-legged on the ground, slumped over at the waist now that there was no one left propping her up, her tangled hair falling over her face. She looked limp and pliable, like a doll that would be content however you posed her.

“She doesn’t know what she wants,” Kane murmured, then turned toward the greasy loser and smiled. He didn’t need to raise a fist to convey his warning. “You should probably get out of here, asshole. Now.”

Kane could have taken the guy in a fight, but he knew it would never come to that. Even a loser like this knew that Kane had all the power, and knew better than to stick around.

“You okay, Grace?” Kane asked, hauling her up. She lifted her head and scowled.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice slurred.

“Rescuing you, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

She shook him away. ”I don’t need rescuing. I was fine.”

“Yeah, you and Drunky McDateRapist were having a grand old time.”

“I can hook up with whoever I want.”

“Your warm gratitude means the world to me,” he said dryly. This knight-in-shining-armor business didn’t come with many perks. Probably a good thing: A few more good deeds and his rep would end up in the toilet.

Standing up and arguing seemed to revive her a bit, because the color seeped back into her face and her hand suddenly squeezed down on his. “Let’s go!” she cried.

A manic-depressive drunk. Great. Party on, Kane, he thought sourly, wondering if it was sexist to believe girls couldn’t hold their liquor. Not that he wasn’t already an unapologetic sexist-he just liked to be consistent. “Go where?” he asked wearily.

“Dance!” she tugged him toward the whirling crowd, thrashing her head in time to the tinny hip-hop bursting from some cheap speakers. “Come on.”

“I don’t dance,” he reminded her, reluctant to leave her alone again. “How about we go visit your good friend Miranda. She’s just over-”

“Shut up and dance with me,” she said, threading a finger through his belt loop and pulling him toward her. She ignored the pulsing beat and instead collapsed into his arms, hanging around his neck and swaying back and forth. “Stop rescuing me,” she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.

“Stop screwing up,” he suggested.

She dragged herself up a few inches and propped her chin up against his chest so that, when he looked down at her, their lips nearly met. “I know what you want,” she said, too loudly, a harsh smile twisting her face.

“A private jet? A harem? My own private island?”

“Stop!” she cried, hitting against his chest.

“Stop what?”

“Being nice to me.”

Kane tilted his head down enough that their foreheads touched. “I’m never nice. You know that.”

Before he knew what was happening, she’d pushed herself up on her toes and kissed him, her hands tightening around his neck. A soft moan escaped her as she pulled away.

“Now I know you’re drunk,” he joked, his mouth on autopilot as he struggled to plot his next move.

“Shut up,” she murmured, kissing his chest, sucking on the bare skin at the nape of his neck.

“You don’t know what you’re doing, Grace,” he warned her, halfheartedly trying to push her away.

“Who cares?” And then her lips were on his again, her tongue probing, her hands massaging his back and then slipping beneath his shirt and clawing against his skin.

If he were a cartoon character, this is the point at which the tiny angel and devil would pop into existence, one perched on each shoulder.

Angel, complete with halo and miniature golden harp: She’s drunk. She’s self-destructive. She’s out of her mind.

Devil, with red horns and a familiar smirk: She’s drunk. You’re drunk. Let’s party. It’s all good.

Angel: She doesn’t really want you.

Devil: Everyone wants you. Don’t be stupid.

Angel: Don’t be evil.

Devil, jabbing him with his tiny pitchfork: Don’t forget about that tight ass, and her magic fingers crawling down toward your waistband, and-is that a black thong peeking out over her jeans?

Angel: Ohhh, definitely a thong. And that ass…

Devil: Told you so.

Angel: And that thing she’s doing with your ear?

Devil: Do they give gold medals for tongue aerobics?

Angel, slapping the devil five: God, she’s good.

Devil: Hallelujah.

Kane groaned, half in pleasure and half in torture, as he wrestled with himself (and with Harper). And while he deliberated, she kissed him, and groped him, and he let it happen, their bodies tangling together and his mind s voice growing quieter and quieter, drowned in the force of desperate, physical need.

He’d push her away.

He would.

In a minute.

Miranda wandered unsteadily through the crowd. At least the world had stopped spinning and her head had stopped throbbing. But as her mind and vision cleared, she’d realized she was sitting alone on a rock, waiting for someone who, apparently, wasn’t coming back.

She was still drunk enough to go and look for him.

First she flipped open her pocket-size mirror and checked things out. Eye shadow a little smeared, mascara intact, fresh coat of “Midnight Rose”-colored lipstick in hopes of looking extra kissable, and she was ready to go.

He wasn’t hanging with the stoners, who were sprawled on their backs, passing around a massive bong.

He wasn’t, thank god, groping the cheerleaders or charming the prom committee.

He wasn’t wandering along the edges of the crowd, looking for her.

He wasn’t by the keg, or the speakers, or the jocks, or the trees.

And then time stopped.

She didn’t see it as a fluid series of events, but rather as a series of frozen snapshots, flashing in front of her eyes and then fading away:

Kane’s back, and a girl’s arms roaming across it.

Curly auburn hair falling across a shoulder.

Two faces in profile, eyes closed, tongues locked.

Harper, her eyes open, locked on Miranda. Her smile.

Harper turning away, kissing him again.

Miranda sat down where she’d been standing, Harper and Kane fading from view. All she could see now were people’s legs and feet, some walking, some dancing, some standing around, some wrapped up in others. She tried to catch her breath.

She’s drunk, Miranda told herself. Self-destructive. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.

But Harper had stopped. Looked at Miranda. Smiled and turned away. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Miranda suddenly felt completely sober and clear. But she couldn’t have been, or she wouldn’t have stood up and walked purposefully off toward the crops of Joshua trees, where she’d seen half the basketball team breaking bottles and doing keg stands. If she wasn’t drunk, where did she get the nerve to wrap her arms around Adam and whisper in his ear, “I need you, now”?

She didn’t think about the consequences or fear humiliation. She just acted, tugging him away from the group, deeper into the trees. She didn’t need to think. She’d come to this party to give in to her desires. At the time, those had been: longing, lust, hope.

Now they’d been replaced with one: revenge. She didn’t pause to acknowledge that to herself or explain it to Adam. She didn’t even need to take a deep breath before kissing him. And she had to admit that Harper had been right. The chiseled face and perfect body was a definite turn-on. As was the prospect of smashing Harper’s heart to pieces.

“Miranda?” Adam was out of it, completely, his face slack and his words thick. “Whuh?”

“This doesn’t have to mean anything,” she said, stripping off her shirt. “It’s just for fun.” She tugged at the edge of his shirt and stumbled against him. “It’s a party, right?”

Adam didn’t say anything. But he let her tug him down to the ground, and he didn’t resist as she ran her fingers through his hair. She didn’t know how to seduce someone, or how to follow up the first move with a second one. Harper would know.

Harper was probably doing it right now.

She lay down on her side, ignoring the sharp edges digging into her. “Come here,” she told Adam, hooking her finger into his collar and jerking him toward her. He toppled over with a grunt, then rolled to face her. “Miranda, I’m not really-”

“You waiting around for Harper?” she snapped, enjoying his wince. Suddenly it seemed like the whole world should share in her pain. See? I can be just like you, she told Harper silently. I can be cold, and I can take what you want. “She’s with Kane. Déjà vu all over again, right?”

“Shuddup.”

“Kane gets everything, and you get-”

“Shut up.” Louder this time.

“Make me,” Miranda challenged, jerking her face toward his. Their noses bumped, and then awkwardly but without hesitation, their lips met.

His face was stubbly and his hair too short. His breath was sour, his kiss was rough, angry, but at least she had acted. And her eyes were dry. He grunted like an animal, and she accidentally bit his tongue, and the rocks beneath them felt like they were drawing blood. But she persevered. She closed her eyes, kissed him harder, and tried not to pretend he was someone else.

Beth drew in a breath and tried not to cough out the smoke. “This is harder than it looks,” she sputtered, lying back against the sleeping bag.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Reed assured her. He lay down next to her, and for a long time all she could hear was their breathing, and the whistling of the wind. “You feeling anything?” he asked.

“I don’t know…”The words sounded strange, and felt strange, as if her tongue had suddenly doubled in size. She stuck it out at him. “Does my tongue look weird?” (This came out sounding more like, “Doz ba tog look eered?”) She burst into giggles before he could answer.

“Yeah, you’re feeling it,” he said, satisfied.

Beth waved her hand in front of her face, marveling at the fact that it was too dark to see. Maybe I don’t have a hand anymore, she thought. Maybe I’m just a mind. The theory seemed startlingly profound, and she was about to explain it to Reed, but the words slipped away from her.

“I never knew why she was with me, you know?” His words seemed like they were dropping out of the sky, unconnected to either of them. “I mean, I’m… and she was… yeah. Like the way she talked. It was like everything she said came out of a book. Like…”

Beth zoned out, just listening to the pleasant rise and fall of his voice, tuning for scattered words and phrases- “never again”; “in the water”; “can’t stop”; “sundress”; “going crazy”; and, several times, “why”-but she couldn’t focus enough to draw them together into a single thread. Every time she tried, she would realize that the ground was hard and soft at the same time, or that the air tasted like peppermint, and she would wander off into her head.

Until it occurred to her: Maybe he was onto her. Maybe he knew her secret. He knew exactly what she’d done, and what she was hiding, and this was his way of torturing her. Beth jerked herself upright and curled her legs up to her chest, trying to catch her breath. He would pretend to be nice to her, and then, just when she felt safe, he would bring the cage down, trap her in her lies, and destroy her. Which was what she deserved. And of course he hated her. She tried to look at his expression, to see if she could find the hatred in his eyes, but it was too dark. She didn’t know what he was thinking, but what if he knew what she was thinking? The truth was so obvious, he must know. He must be waiting, biding his time, and then-

“Hey.” His hand was on her back. His voice didn’t sound angry. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, gasping for breath. Would he hear the lies in her voice? “I have to get out of here.” Away from him.

She tried to stand up, but he stopped her. “Chill. Wait,” he urged. “It’s not real, whatever it is. It’s just the weed. It’s just something that happens.” He rubbed her back, and she bent her head to her knees. “Deep breaths,” he advised, rubbing her back. “Slow, deep breaths.”

“I know you know,” she said feverishly. “I know you know I know you know you know you know…” She repeated the words so many times, they lost all meaning and became absurd, like a made-up language. “Owyoo no new oh,” she said experimentally. It suddenly seemed ridiculous that some noises had so much meaning and others were just noise. “New yo I you?” she asked, bursting into laughter as Reed gaped at her in confusion.

Words were so weird.

“Weird,” she said, testing out the sound. “Weeeeeeeeeird.”

Reed shook his head, bemused. “Yes, you are.”

She lay down again on her back, her breathing slowed and her mind clear. Just like the stars, which seemed so bright, like they were holes in the sky. The desert was cold, and empty, but she didn’t feel alone. Even though she couldn’t see him, she knew he was there.

The world seemed so huge, and so small at the same time, like she and Reed were the only things in existence. And wouldn’t everything be so much easier if that were true. The world felt fresh. The sharp wind against her face, the rough polyester beneath her. Reed’s hand brushing, just slightly, against hers-she’d never felt so there.

“Are you happy?” she asked.

“No. You?”

“No. But-” She searched for the words that described how she did feel, a certainty that she’d never be happy combined with a strange acceptance and even contentment, as if she was floating along and the current was strong but she could trust where it would take her, so she could just close her eyes, sink back, and relax. She felt like she understood everything at once, with a deep clarity- but when she tried to name it, assign words and sentences to the certainty, it flowed away. The closer she drew, the blurrier it got. So she gave up. “But it’s okay,” she concluded simply.

She heard Reed take a sharp, deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah. It’s okay. Everything is.”