"Hey," said Wyn.
Nobody said anything for what felt to Tavo like a very long time. Tuli had stopped juggling. A sprinkler on the Little League field came on, ticked twice, and went off again.
"Dad doesn't know I'm here," Torin said. "I told him I was going for a run."
"Okay."
"I'm going to tell him. Later. I just didn't want to have the conversation at five in the morning."
"That's smart," Wyn said. "Nobody should have that conversation at five in the morning."
Torin looked at the orange square on the wall. He looked at it for a while.
"I go past this every day," he said.
"I know. I've seen you." Wyn's voice was not quite steady. "You ride with your hands off the handlebars on the downhill. Mom would kill you."
Torin's mouth moved. It was not a smile yet. It was the place a smile would go.
"You've seen me," he said.
"I've seen you." Wyn looked down at the thermos. "I've seen you a lot, actually. More than you think. I used to park behind the snack bar at Delta Valley sometimes. On Saturdays. I'd leave before the end so Dad wouldn't see the truck." He breathed out. "I thought I was doing you a favor. Staying out of the way. I was wrong about that. I've been wrong about a lot of stuff. I'm sorry, Torin."
Torin stood there with the cleats in his hand. Then he walked the rest of the way over and sat down on the curb, not next to Wyn, exactly, but one body's width away, with the grocery bag between them. He looked at the bag. He did not ask what was in it. He knew.