The next day, Sean and his brother stop for lunch at a trashy diner somewhere in northern Nevada. It's the only sign of human life they have seen for miles. The air inside is heavy with grease, and they order artery-clogging cheeseburgers. Sean is almost finished with his burger when he feels his phone vibrate.

It's a message from Toby: Things are getting pretty craaaazy here in Daytona

Attached is a photo of Toby and Diego posing in speedos. Both of them are in their hotel bathroom, mugging at the mirror. Diego is a little husky, so part of his stomach spills over his black and green camo-print brief. Toby is kind of twiggy, wearing a suit with purple and blue trim. He looks good in it even though he's trying to be funny.

Lol you guys actually wearing that to the beach? Sean texts back.

Yeah it was Diegos idea straight guys are weird, Toby says. Then he adds, Wish you were here in one too ;)

Haha I have a runners body I would look awful in a speedo. Too many ribs showing, Sean says.

I wouldn't be looking at your ribs, Toby texts, followed by, like, a dozen eggplant and sweat emojis. Seriously I wish you were here. I miss you and kind of wish I was curled up in your arm on the beach speedo or no speedo

I miss you too, Sean sends.

Then he types: Te amo. He catches himself before he hits Send, rereads it, changes it to English, then deletes the whole message

He can't say "I love you" to Toby. That's crazy. Yet he typed it without thinking about it, so, deep down, it's probably true.

Which sucks. He reviews their conversation. Who sends flirty texts from spring break and says "I wish I was curled up in your arm" to someone who isn't their boyfriend?

But they're not dating. Whatever they are is messy and confusing and increasingly frustrating and Sean doesn't know what to make of wanting more and—

"Hey, Sean, is something up?" Daniel asks from across the table. He wipes ketchup off the side of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"It's nothing," Sean says, setting his phone beside his plate. "Just stupid drama."

"I'm in tenth grade. I spend my whole day surrounded by stupid drama. I'm a stupid-drama expert," Daniel says. "You can talk to me about it."

"It's cool," Sean says, but Daniel kind of hangs his head. They've been getting along pretty well since Beaver Creek, and it stings to shut him down like this. But this is Sean's problem, and Daniel is the little brother. This isn't the type of thing you burden your hermanito with.

Their waitress walks up to the table. She has light-brown hair and intense cheekbones. There's this thing in art where the more lines you put on a character's face, the older they look, and this lady has the lines of a hundred-year-old, even though she's probably younger than Dad. She has a sick sleeve of tattoos, mostly flowers, that runs down one of her arms, and there's a butterfly tattooed on the other. She's been real nice, and she refills their water glasses. "You boys need anything else?" she asks, her voice sounding exhausted even though there are only five customers here.

Sean and Daniel both say they are good, and when she walks out of earshot, Daniel says, "On her nametag, her name is spelled weird. Who writes Sera with an E?"

"I don't think I can judge other people's names. Sean definitely doesn't sound like it should be spelled S-E-A-N," Sean says. "In Spanish, her name means 'this thing or whatever will happen.'"

Daniel spins the straw in his glass of water, and ice cubes clink together. "So this is something I have always wondered. . . how come you can speak fluent Spanish and I can't?"

"Dude, you're a better guitar player and dancer than me. You have to let me have something."

"It's a serious question," Daniel says.

"I'm not sure, exactly," Sean says. "You know how Dad is, like, super proud of his heritage and that he's an immigrant and all that?"

"Yeah, he should be. It's pretty badass," Daniel says. "I can't imagine how scary it is to go to a country where you don't know anyone, don't know the language, and just start over with nothing. I couldn't do that."

Sean drums his fingers on the table; that is exactly what Daniel would have went through if they had made it to Puerto Lobos. If Sean had asked him to hurt all those cops at the border. If it wasn't important to Sean that he not be a criminal.

If Sean could ask Daniel to make sacrifices instead of taking them all on himself.

"Anyway, Dad spoke Spanish to me all the time when I was little," Sean continues. "I only really remember him speaking English when he talked to Mom or if we were out somewhere. I don't know if he was just more comfortable with Spanish because English was still new to him, or if he just intentionally wanted to pass his heritage to me. Probably a little bit of both. But by the time you were born, things in this country were changing. Do you remember when Trump got elected?"

"I was too young to understand it, really," Daniel says. "But I remember everyone was kind of on edge. I remember you and Dad watching one of his speeches and just being real quiet. I didn't know if you two were scared or angry or what."

"Probably both," Sean says. "But it wasn't Trump, really. It was . . . people got shitty. I remember some guy following me and Dad around a store to make sure we didn't steal anything. Or I'd . . . hear stories about some sixteen-year-old kid stopping for a nap on the side of the road, only to have some assholes threaten to beat him down if he didn't sing in Spanish to them because he was in the 'wrong country.'"

Sean fingers his ribs. He can still remember those blows he got the last time he was in Nevada. His heart flutters a little, like he might have another anxiety attack. He slows his breathing, and it seems to keep his heart at the right rhythm.

"I read some things in social studies about how people weren't doing well, and they needed someone to blame," Daniel says. "Like people worked harder, made less money, started having less, so they had a lot of things to be angry about. It just sucks that they took it out on people who look like us."

"Yeah," Sean says, taken back because he wasn't expecting a socio-political analysis from his kid brother. But, then again, Daniel isn't really a kid anymore, is he? "So shit like that was going on long before 2016. Even when Mom was pregnant with you, I remember Dad scolding me for speaking Spanish in public. So . . . with all of that, he just didn't speak Spanish as much when you were born. I don't know if he was forcing himself to speak English more in case he slipped up in front of some assholes or if he was trying to help you 'pass' as 'more American' or what. But the short version is that he just didn't talk to you in Spanish much, and it kind of sucks that you didn't get to learn."

"It does suck," Daniel says. "You and Dad have, like, this private thing that's just between you two, and it makes me feel left out. Especially since you both slip into Spanish when you have real heart-to-hearts."

"I didn't realize we were leaving you out like that. That must feel pretty lonely," Sean says, watching his brother nod. "I can try to teach you, if you want. Here's a phrase: Eres mi hermano."

"I know that means 'you are my brother.'"

"Okay. How about this: Te quiero."

"I know how to say 'I love you.'"

"Oh, you do? Because you acted like you didn't at Christmas," Sean says, gently kicking his brother under the table, and Daniel chuckles. "I can keep teaching you, bro, but it sounds like you're good. That's really all the Spanish you need."

"I'm pretty sure there's a little more to it," Daniel says with a smile.

"Well, yeah. Let's say that you have someone, like a girl, that you're really into. After you've been together for a while, you might tell her: Te amo."

Sean glances at his phone sitting on the table. Obviously, he and Daniel had some heavy, serious conversations when they were on the run. But he never talked about his personal stuff with his little brother. They never got into things like family or relationships or identity or politics. But Daniel is sixteen now. He has bigger things in his life than just superheroes and video games and who picked him last for dodgeball. He can probably understand the bigger stuff now.

And what did Dad say? That trusting him might help? That being strong for someone else lets you be strong for yourself?

"So, uh, do you want to know what my texting drama was?" Sean asks.

"If you want to tell me, sure," Daniel says, trying to be cool. "I mean, I love drama. Actually, I don't love drama. But I do really want to know who you spent five minutes deleting text messages over."

The paper wrapper from Sean's straw rests on the table. He touches it with his finger, pushes it slowly so it crawls across the table like it's a snake. "So there's this guy in Savannah named Toby. And we are kind of together, but we kind of aren't. We do 'relationship stuff'."

"What's 'relationship stuff'?"

Sean sighs. "We have sex."

"Ah."

"So neither of us are dating other people. He's really sweet. And I really like him, and I think he really likes me back. But he won't be my boyfriend, and I don't get why, and so I don't know what we are, and that sucks."

The straw-wrapper snake has reached the end of the table, and Sean looks up. His brother is staring at a fork that he tinks against the side of his plate.

"Have you asked him to talk about it?" Daniel says.

"Kind of. He said I hadn't brought it up in a while, so I did, and he said he needed time to think and we should talk about it for real after spring break." Sean wraps the straw wrapper around his finger. "But that sounds like he's just kicking the can down the road, and I don't know if we'll talk about it. I worry that I'll just be left wondering."

"That sucks. Somebody not talking to you about things sucks. The not knowing, the not being able to explain or be heard out . . . that really sucks."

"Yeah, it does."

"I'm sorry you are dealing with that."

"It's fine. Thanks for listening to my dumb drama."

It's far from the biggest thing Sean has ever carried, but it's weird. Offloading some of it, letting his brother help does make it feel better.

Daniel drums his knuckles on the table. "So, I'm sorry if this is rude or awkward, but you said Toby was a guy, so I have to ask . . . are you gay?"

Sean laughs. "I don't think so. I like guys, yeah, but I like girls too. I think I like girls more, actually. If we have to label it, I'm bisexual. Are you cool with that?"

"Of course I'm cool with it. I just wanted to know. No one's ever 'come out' to me before." He taps his fingers on the table again, a rhythm that sort of sounds like the theme to Terminator. "Does Dad know?"

"I told him back in January."

"How did he take it?"

Sean laughs again. "Well, he was . . . really awkward. Surprised. But . . . he also said he loves me and he doesn't care who I'm with as long as they are good to me and make me happy. So, overall, I think he handled it okay."

"That's good. Dad's a cool dude. It, uh, would have sucked to find out he wasn't cool with it." Daniel fidgets some, scratches the back of his neck. Then, suddenly, he says he has to go to the bathroom, and he gets up from the table.

Which is weird. Sean isn't sure what to make of it, but Daniel leaving gives him a chance to deal with the much bigger things on his mind than Toby.

He picks up the cell phone. Last night at the campsite, they had no signal, so he couldn't look anything up. And the rest of the time, he's been driving. But that comment Daniel made about the 'hippies' hit by the train has stuck with him, and he pulls up an article from Beaver Creek's local news. It describes the victims as "transients," a man and a woman, but that's it. No names. No identification.

They could be anyone, really. Hundreds of people must hop on those trains, from bored teenagers to adventurers to kids just trying to escape bad situations. The chance that Sean knows the victims is astronomical.

But he searches for Cassidy, Finn, Hannah, and the others anyway. It isn't like any of them have social media. And, shit, except for Finn, he doesn't really know any of their last names. And he realizes that he might not even know most of their real names.

Cassidy was his first time, and he maybe doesn't even know her name. That's . . . he doesn't know what that is. There's not a name for the feeling you get when you realize you know nothing about the girl you were most vulnerable with.

The only thing he can find about any of them is an article about Finn McNamara and his brothers' arrests for stealing and stripping cars.

His chest already feels like it's going to collapse over what happened to Chris. Chris is dead in this life; he isn't dead in the other. Sean can tell himself that he didn't drive the truck and he didn't cause the drunken fight, but Sean Diaz changed the past, and because of that, Charles never opened up to him and Daniel was never Chris's friend, and now someone who helped them out is dead.

And his gut keeps screaming at him that the people who died under the train in Beaver Creek are Finn and Cassidy. They had zero reason to ever pass through Beaver Creek again, let alone stop there. It's impossible that it's them, but, also, it has to be.

This is maybe worse than Chris's death. Because how can he ever know?

Sean squeezes his cell phone between his hands and presses it to his forehead. Maybe Max's theory is right. Maybe their friends are dead because he's trying to get closer to his brother. Maybe if he just goes back to being a self-centered flake who walks out of relationships and isn't there for people, maybe the universe will leave him alone. Maybe he should just end the road trip, drive back to Seattle, tell Daniel to fuck off, and never call or text again.

But how can he do that? How can he really live without his brother?

There's no good option.

There's never a good option.

"Why the fuck is there never a good option?" Sean mutters.

"Are you okay, kid?" the waitress asks. She's standing over his table holding the check.

"I'm fine," Sean says, sitting back. He rubs his forehead where the phone has made an imprint. "I was just . . . thinking."

The waitress stares at him. "I recognize that look in your eyes. You've seen some things. You've got the eyes of someone who has carried the weight of a lot of mistakes on his shoulders."

"That's an understatement. How do you know that?"

"I see those same eyes every time I look in a mirror. I've also made a lot of mistakes. Some pretty big ones, probably bigger ones than you have," she says, smiling sadly. She sets the check down on the table, and Sean notices the puncture scars from needles on her arm.

He also notices a tattoo near her wrist that says:

This action will have consequences.

"What's up with the tattoo?" Sean asks.

"That's a long story."

"Can you give me the short version?"

"I don't just share it with strangers."

Sean glances at the restroom door. Daniel still isn't out yet, which is concerning. Daniel doesn't like public restrooms, and even if he is taking a massive dump, he should be out any second now.

"I'll tell you the short version of mine," Sean offers. "I did some time in jail because I took the fall for someone I care about. And now I'm on a road trip to try to repair my relationship with my little brother. But I'm worried that spending time with me is just going to put him in danger, and I don't know what to do, and I kind of think the only way anything goes is that everything gets fucked up."

"In my experience, everything does get fucked up." The waitress scratches at the scars on her arm. "Look, I'll tell you this. There was someone I loved. Someone I wasn't good to. And I had a kind of second chance to talk to them and maybe have some kind of relationship with them. And I didn't take it because I thought I would hurt them. And not long after, she died, and there's not a day that goes by that I don't regret the decision I made. So, I got the tattoo. Because all of our actions have consequences, even the actions we choose not to do. So if you want my advice, if everything is going to get fucked up anyway, you might as well have one hell of a road trip with your little brother. Spend the time you have with the people you love."

As the waitress walks away, and Sean pulls his credit card from his wallet, Daniel finally emerges from the bathroom. He insists that everything is okay, that he was just washing his face because he hasn't showered since Seattle. The edge of his hair isn't wet, but Sean doesn't press him on it.

"I can pay for lunch," Daniel says as he takes the bill.

"I have a job," Sean says. "You don't."

"One, Dad makes me help at his garage like he did you. And, two, my grandmother gave me twenty dollars yesterday."

So Sean throws a few extra dollars down on the table for a tip as his little brother pays, but it feels like his lungs are being squeezed by a trash compactor as they go out to the car. All he has done is cared about his little brother, his familia, tried to do what is right, and how has life rewarded him?

Life has taken his eye.

Life has thrown him in jail.

Life has killed his friends like it killed his father.

Sera has a point. If life is going to make him miserable, then there's no sense in being miserable on his own. Standing by the car, Sean fishes the keys from his pocket and dangles them from the end of his finger. "So, bro, you want to drive for a while?"

Daniel laughs at first. "Wait, are you serious? Dude, I only have my learner's permit. I can only drive with Dad."

"I know Esteban Diaz, dude, and I know he has been teaching you how to drive since you were, like, six. And we are in the middle of the desert. I bet we don't even see another car for the next three hours, let alone a police officer. Just don't suddenly turn into Dominic Toretto, and I think we'll be fine."

Daniel hesitates. It's so obvious that he wants to say yes, but he's a good kid, who can't get past the idea of breaking the law or driving his dad's car without permission. Sean shakes the keys again, and they jingle, a siren call that's a temptation that Daniel can't say no to. He takes the keys, sits down in the driver's seat, and Sean climbs into the passenger's side.

Daniel sticks the key in the ignition, but he doesn't turn it. Instead, he just sits there, hands on the wheel, staring down at it.

"Hey, bro, you forget how the car works or something?" Sean asks.

"No, I just . . . you're pretty cool, you know? You're just comfortable being you. The hair, the gages, the art and weird music, the kissing boys . . . you can just be Sean Diaz, and I think it's pretty cool how comfortable you are with yourself."

"If you say so," Sean laughs. "You know I take anxiety medication, and I worry, like, all the time, right?"

"You also cry in your sleep and have breakdowns on the side of the road," Daniel says. "But you're still confident in a way that I'm not."

Sean's never thought of himself as confident. It's hard not to think about himself as the quiet, introverted, borderline-emo kid he was at sixteen. But he's had to wrestle with so many difficult choices in his life that, sure, his quick-decision-I'm-winning-'cause-I'm-not-dead disposition probably comes off as confidence. "You know I think you're pretty cool too, right, Daniel? It's why I'm spending spring break with you instead of my friends and not-boyfriend."

Daniel shrugs. Then he sighs, sort of runs his hands over the steering wheel. "So when you came out to Dad, he was cool with it?"

"Yeah, bro, he was."

"Like, he was 100% okay? Even if he was awkward?"

"Why are you so concerned about Dad's reaction?"

Daniel takes a deep breath, the kind you take when you're about to dive under water. "I think I might be bisexual, too. I like girls, but I also like guys. I think I like guys a little more. I dunno. Maybe that makes me gay."

"Hey, buddy, don't get too hung up on labels. You're only sixteen. It's okay if you're still figuring things out."

"And you're cool with it? Me being bi or whatever?"

Sean laughs. "It would be pretty fucked up if I was hooking up with a dude but thought there was something wrong with you, right? Of course I'm cool with it. There's nothing wrong with you liking who you like or not even knowing what you like yet. I'm glad you told me." He reaches over and sets his hand on the back of Daniel's neck, and his brother's skin is cold. The kid kind of trembles, and this is clearly hard for him for whatever reason. "Hey, bro, you got a papa and a brother who are going to support you no matter what. We just want you to be happy, okay? Eres mi hermano. Te quiero. Te quiero mucho."

Daniel sniffles, runs his fist across his nose. "Thanks, Sean."

"No problem, enano," Sean says.

Daniel is such a cautious driver that it takes them almost ten minutes just to back out of the parking spot. But, after he checks left and right, then left and right, then left and right one more time, they are finally on the road again. And Sean has opened up to his brother, just a little.

And, at least for now, the world didn't end.