There were the pursued, the pursuing, the busy, the tired, and Marco, who was too unmotivated to place himself in a single bucket. It was a hot summer, hot unlike any they had ever seen, breaking some record the day after July 4th Marco hadn't bothered to verify—but it was also a cold summer by some other metric, and then the consensus was that they were having the highest highs and lowest lows a San Sebastian summer had ever seen. All this meant, practically speaking, was that it was time to resume his morning walk habit; like every New Year's resolution, it had fallen by the wayside once he was instead expected to wake up early and reason with Hobbes.

The haze let Marco's neighborhood pass for some windswept hill in San Francisco where the local residents wore scarves and grumbled over the faint odor of marijuana they could swear was coming from that Airbnb across the way. Here that house was on the corner, where a Vietnam War veteran would sit on his porch and smoke his "cigarettes"; Marco's mother had told him once to avoid that house, though she also knew perfectly well if there were trouble in the neighborhood, he'd take his shotgun and save them all. Marco hadn't seen him much lately. Hopefully he was all right. But this haze would burn off in the heat of day: all good pleasures were fleeting. Marco continued on at his petty pace.

It was too early for anyone but the dogwalkers, and it felt earlier than Marco had been accustomed to waking. He checked his phone: only 6:30 AM. That was what happened when he set his biological clock to rouse him just before sunrise, when sunrise had become so early. His parents had taken him to see Fiddler on the Roof once, which they had thought far more moral of a musical than anything like Chicago that was also playing, and he recalled the lyric "sunrise, sunset, swiftly flow the days"—there was no better feeling than watching the sun work so hard to take its rightful place in the sky, a cinematic moment every day. The other reason it came to mind, he realized, was that it had been quoted in What We Make Today. Heller celebrated a "senior sunrise" at the beginning of every new school year, with the professed intent of beginning the year on the right foot; Marco was looking forward to it this year because it would be the beginning of the end.

It wasn't too early for Harry and Daisy, whom Marco spotted walking along the other side of the inlet. They held each other's hands limply, like an old couple. It was the first time Marco had seen Daisy in a while, and she still had enough vigor in her cheeks for herself and Harry. Last time Marco had thought of the two of them (and they were an item, like their matching beanies), he had thought only of Harry, whom many had compared to the dad in Calvin and Hobbes. But Daisy was also an interesting person in her own right, one not defined by that burdensome Harry who still acted like if he made one misstep Daisy would ditch him for the next guy. In any other world, Daisy would inspire jealousy from the rest of Heller: she was smart, a cheerleader, a popular model for club propaganda posters due to her traditional appearance, in general the sort of template all deviant female club members were held to. That was harsh phrasing, certainly regrettable phrasing, but Presidents Jamal and Haneul had said so on different occasions. So it was true.

To talk about Daisy as a person without ascribing some broader theory of mind about why one wanted to talk about Daisy in that way was unheard of those days. Daisy was "far too gone" for much of that sort of idle conversation: if someone brought her up, the inevitable antecedent was the borderline-offensive thing she had said, or how she had been picked once again for some privilege. Good things always fell into Daisy's lap, as they tended to do for club members with honeyed voices and easy smiles. She was smart, too smart to not know better, and they hated her for it, "they" being those whose imperfections—a misplaced freckle, a shabby outfit, a loose tongue—held them back.

Marco caught up to them quickly, it being easy to walk quickly with nobody at your side. Harry noticed him first:

"Marco, so lovely to see you again. Congratulations on your promotion—I knew you had it in you. I was a Beta once, I remember..."

"Oh Harry, you're always so sentimental!" Daisy teased, her voice cloying. "But we should hurry: that new coffee shop is going to open soon, and you know how frightful the lines will be."

"The lines? It's a Wednesday morning, nobody will be eating out on a Wednesday, my dear. We can take it easy, and watch the ducks swim by."

"There are more ducks by the Waterfront Pavilion. I might head there myself, though it's a bit far and I went Monday. I haven't had breakfast yet," Marco said.

"Vice President Juliet's place? How about we go there, Daisy? The tea's plenty fresh."

"I think we should start our day somewhere less noisy. And I never like the tea they serve at those Chinese restaurants. It's too bitter."

"You leave it in the pot too long and it turns bitter," Marco explained.

"I'm delicate: I can't guzzle down cup after cup of tea like they do at her restaurant," Daisy protested. "I'll burst if I gorge myself that quickly."

"If you say so," Harry said, and he looked to Marco as if to say it was better the conversation switched topics.

"Did you two see our July 4th parade float?" Marco asked. "We've outdone ourselves this year."

"It was spectacular! At least 50% more ferocious than last year," Daisy declared. "Though I don't very much like how they allowed Isaac up there. He looked silly."

"He's a Beta, he certainly did something right to end up there—"

"It's not tradition," Daisy said imperiously. Marco considered hastening his pace to avoid the lovers' quarrel.

"I take it you don't like him much," Marco observed.

"I have nothing against him, but he's not right in the head. Always hanging around Vice President Cynthia like that," Daisy said. "People like her need to protect themselves from those sorts of lollygaggers."

"Isaac isn't a lollygagger, my dear, that's not nice. He's as much of a lollygagger as President Timon, who never could hope to maintain the legacy of our past presidents—"

"You're an election too late, Harry, to cheer for the other side. It's all fair and done, and we'd best get on with it. So let's quicken our pace," Daisy said charmingly.

"I heard that Vice President Cynthia invited him on the float, and I'd even seen the two of them at dinner the other night," Marco said. "Isaac is a dear friend of mine, so I want to set the record straight."

"We can learn a lot from Betas, my love," Harry said, grasping Daisy's hand more tightly.

"I've never liked Vice President Cynthia much. She always seemed jealous of me because I fit in better. But that's what she gets when she wears those foreign clothes to events instead of dressing like the rest of us—"

"You can't say that!" Harry interrupted, his eyes wide. "What, is she supposed to dye her hair blonde and put in blue contact lenses? We're an inclusive club, tolerant of all races and inclinations. And you saw the latest demographics data: Heller is what, 25% Asian? You would think more of us would wear silk brocade—and you'd look stellar in it."

"Vice President Juliet never wore anything like that."

"She did sometimes, my dear, I remember."

"Not often."

"Not often, but she did."

Daisy huffed again, then turned to Marco: "My dear Harry is being a bit feisty this morning, but intellectual diversity is a core club value. When you next see your friend, tell him to pick his company more wisely, lest he stray from the righteous path."

"I'll be sure to," Marco promised. The path split, and though it was a few minutes longer to take a different route from Harry and Daisy, it would be a few minutes of peace and quiet well-earned.

"I'll be going now," Marco told them. "Enjoy the coffee shop—the lines won't be too long this early. Not everyone shares your exquisite taste."

"Goodbye, then," Daisy said with a wave, and though she and Harry were walking side by side, it almost seemed as if she was dragging him along the path as they disappeared into the haze.

Daisy's genteel spirit didn't prevent Marco from enjoying his dim sum for the second time that week; the cashier cast his eyes approvingly on him.

"You should come here more often," he observed. Marco brushed a bead of sweat from his brow.

"I should," Marco agreed, and went to eat his breakfast.

Later that day, he and Jessica found themselves at Novel-Tea once more. Kenny had taken Priya on a hike somewhere; if Marco never heard from Priya again, her last words would be "I'm telling Kenny if he walks too quickly, I'm gonna break his legs." Isaac was being Isaac, and never had time for them.

"I think we aren't cool enough for him anymore," Jessica pouted. She took a sip of her jasmine boba.

"That's not true."

"He got to ride on the parade float that we built. I don't think he helped at all, and he got to ride up there and look like a politician. I wanted to be up there."

"Did you ask?"

"No, but they should have asked me."

"I remember when the four of us hung out together, but now they're always doing things. Maybe someday we'll also be too busy to socialize, and then our group will have entirely disbanded," Marco said.

"That would be sad."

A minute of silent sipping later, Jessica continued: "Sometimes I think I have too many friends to keep track of: middle school friends, badminton friends, club friends, and when I have so many friends like that, always calling them 'my friend,' I lose track of them. I try to check in with them quarterly."

"I can't relate. Guys don't hang out like this. Though sometimes I see them at the basketball court."

"You should play with them," Jessica suggested.

"I've always been more of a tennis guy."

"Oh, we should play together!"

"You'd trounce me."

"I'm not that good at tennis. Badminton has very different technique."

"If you're using words like 'technique' to describe how you play, you're better than I am."

The rest of the patrons suddenly stood up, and Marco and Jessica copied them before realizing what the occasion was: President Timon and a sultry Vice President Cynthia had entered.

"Why are we standing?" Marco whispered.

"They sent an email about it yesterday," Jessica explained.

President Timon sauntered over to the counter, Vice President Cynthia in tow, and the crowd watched nervously.

"National Asian-American Month was in May, but it's never too late to celebrate Heller's diversity," President Timon said loudly to nobody in particular.

"What would you like?" the bobarista asked with rehearsed geniality.

"I can't represent everyone, but other people can," President Timon continued unabated. "I'm fortunate to have Cynthia here with me today. Cynthia, what would you like today? My treat."

"Could you make a chè ba màu? I'm not feeling boba today," she told the bobarista, who nodded.

"Anything for you, President Timon?" he asked.

"I don't know what Cynthia said in her language, but it sounds good—I'll take one of those too." President Timon took a table in the center of the boba shop that had suddenly been made vacant, and neither he nor Vice President Cynthia acknowledged Marco's table.

"Should we say hello?" Jessica asked Marco.

"I don't want to interrupt their special moment."

"Come on, you've been seeing Vice President Cynthia everywhere. You should say hello to your friend."

"You sound like my dad."

"He's right: you need to socialize more."

"How about I walk by their table like I'm going to grab a napkin, and I see if either of them initiate contact?"

"Deal," Jessica said, offering her hand for a handshake.

Marco walked by their table, slowing a moment in front of Vice President Cynthia's all-seeing gaze. She thankfully noticed him, and did her best impression of a smile.

"Marco, so nice to see you here! You should come sit with us. You aren't interrupting any important conversation," she said, gesturing for someone to bring a seat.

"I can't, I'm with someone else. How are you two doing? I've never seen you here before, and I come often."

"Interesting," she said, narrowing her gaze—perhaps that wasn't what a Beta was supposed to say.

"Well, Marco, I saw this lovely weather we'd been having, and I thought that good weather like this would be wasted alone. Cynthia suggested that instead of us relaxing by my pool, we go out on the town to slum it a little," President Timon said. The bobarista brought out their bowls of dessert.

"Am I supposed to pick up the bowl and drink this stuff?" President Timon asked.

"You should use the spoon," Vice President Cynthia said, picking up her own.

"What's in this?"

"Lots of stuff. Beans."

"Beans, beans, the musical fruit..." President Timon laughed, and looked at the two of them like they were supposed to finish the rhyme.

"I think I'll let you two enjoy your dessert," Marco said, slowly shuffling in place.

"Say hello to Isaac from me next time you see him," Vice President Cynthia said.

"You've been seeing him more than I have lately."

"Have I now?" she said innocently.

"He must have good taste!" President Timon interrupted.

Marco said nothing more, and returned to his table.

"What did they say?" Jessica asked.

"We didn't say much. I don't think they were in the mood for conversation."

"Part of being a successful club member is being good at small talk. I love small talk. And it's good to make a good impression on our future leaders before the school year starts and we'll all be so formal."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind. Reminds me of when I saw Harry and Daisy this morning."

"You saw them this morning, and you didn't tell me? How are they?"

"They bicker like an old married couple," Marco said.

"That's adorable. They're such a power couple. What did you talk about?"

"They actually had some thoughts on our two friends sitting at the other table. I should lower my voice."

"Did they say anything bad?"

"No, Jessica, I want to make sure they don't hear all their compliments. Daisy had some strong thoughts about Vice President Cynthia's... ahem... 'foreign clothes.'"

"She didn't say that!"

"She did, she said that Vice President Cynthia was jealous of Daisy because she fit in better, and that if she'd stop wearing foreign clothes, she wouldn't have so many issues. Search your feelings, you know it to be true."

"I don't know how she could say that. We're an inclusive club, tolerant of all races and inclinations," Jessica said.

"That's what Harry said! Great minds must think alike."

"It's a quote from President Jamal, after someone tried defacing his portrait. You don't remember?"

"I don't have a memory for quotes like you do."

"If someone else can say something better than I can, there's no reason to think of what to say myself."

"That's true."

President Timon had gone to work the other side of the boba shop, and Vice President Cynthia took the opportunity to visit their table.

"Did Daisy really say those things about me? She's going to pay," Vice President Cynthia said, her body language not betraying the content of her words.

"It can't have been that bad, I'm sure Daisy didn't mean it—" Jessica equivocated.

"She meant it. She knew exactly what she meant by what she said. I don't think it's just a political scuffle," Marco clarified.

"I shouldn't be discussing politics, or my personal views, with people like you, but it's a lot harder to maintain superiority over your classmates than you'd think. I don't know how President Timon does it, except for being rich. Daisy must have watched Miss Saigon and thought I'm Kim, but I'm Lady Macbeth, and it will be her blood rendering the multitudinous seas incarnadine—like Isaac's English project—if she stands in my way."

"Slay."

"If there's anyone who can make that happen, it's you," Marco said reassuringly.

"She would have never said that about Vice President Juliet or President Haneul. She might have thought it, but she would have never said it. I'm weak—the school year hasn't even started yet and I'm weak."

"Nobody thinks you're weak, Vice President Cynthia," Jessica said. "You're an inspiration to us all."

"If I may offer some advice, despite being a lowly Beta, I remember what you said to me at the pool party, that the club's problem is that every Gatsby thinks he needs a Daisy by his side. No leader is complete without a future prom date. But what if they all formed their own daisy-chain without attaching themselves to others?"

"What do you mean?" Vice President Cynthia asked.

"Maybe people see you as weak and dependent because you're always with President Timon and Isaac. I hate to speak ill of Vice President Juliet, but let's face it: people thought she was clingy. She and President Frank make a wonderful couple, but it was only when she ended up on the opposite side of the country from him that she came into her element."

"So if I stopped hanging out with them..."

"It's only an idea."

President Timon circled back to their end of the room, and drew close to Vice President Cynthia's side.

"This place is such a quaint little joint, with such inventive and colorful foods. There's a lot of novelty in it." He paused. "Get it?"

Vice President Cynthia laughed affectedly. "You are sensational, President Timon! You're as funny as that meerkat from The Lion King."

"Did you have a good time meeting your constituents?" Marco asked.

"A most excellent time. What sort of leader am I if I don't live among the people, and understand their concerns?"

"How can they have concerns if your tenure hasn't yet begun?"

"You're right, Marco! They didn't have any concerns at all. Only gratitude that I'd stop by and say hello. Well, we must be going now, Cynthia."

"I've realized I need to get some work done. I'm going to go to school after this."

"Let me drive you."

"No need, the weather is lovely out today," she said, and President Timon was too caught up in his own conceit to press the matter further. He waved at a few more people and left Novel-Tea.

"I'm not going to school, I'd find him there because he'd also decide he needed to get work done. I'm going to the Japanese garden. It will be nice to do something by myself," Vice President Cynthia said.

"You look nice today, you should take some photos," Jessica suggested, gesturing at Vice President Cynthia's robin-egg blue áo dài.

"They've been photographing me too much lately. You didn't see them, but they had someone take a photo of us as we were eating. I was charmed at first, but now it feels excessive, and now I'm going to forever be in some PowerPoint pretending to have a nice time with President Timon."

"Maybe a selfie then?"

"No, not a selfie," Vice President Cynthia chuckled. "Just some peace and quiet."

"Bye, Vice President Cynthia."

"Bye, Jessica, see you next time."

"They are such a power couple," Jessica said to Marco after they'd left and started walking toward Jessica's car. They clung close to the buildings for shade.

"It's dreadful. I don't know how she puts up with him."

"She's just being melodramatic. Everyone knows that there's a dagger in her smile. It's even a Chinese proverb, 笑裏藏刀."

"I believe you. But haven't you thought about how if someone's unwilling to be oblivious to the world like President Haneul is, the only viable route for female leadership in the club is to be tyrannical and stony-hearted?"

"Vice President Juliet was never like that when she was here."

"When she was here, sure, but you had to watch that mini-documentary too about the elections at UCLA. She rules by divine mandate. She's no longer that goofy cheerleader who gatesofheller can make fun of for having puppy-dog eyes."

"I think if you were in Vice President Cynthia's position, or Daisy's, you'd know how hard it is for people like us."

"Maybe I would, Jessica. Anywhere else you want to go?"

"I'm feeling a bit drained. I want to go home and take a nap."

"That's smart."

Despite the caffeine coursing through his veins, Marco realized a nap would also do him some good once he went inside his bedroom and saw his temptingly unmade bed. He changed into sweatpants and hoped he'd wake up just in time for dinner.