It was not the early sunrise, but the morning alarm he had forgotten to turn off that welcomed Marco to his first day of freedom. A TigerTalk notification reminded him to "be his own sunshine," and that it wasn't too late to sign up for summer enrichment classes, some of which were beginning that day. It was a very tempting offer, to put on his suit and walk to the bus stop, and forget about all those pesky "congratulations on the last day of school!" announcements from the previous day—with that frame of mind, school only ended when he declared its end. And yet, that didn't feel right.

He couldn't will himself back to sleep after a few minutes of snoozing, so he rolled out of bed, put on normal clothes, and resolved to assemble himself a hasty breakfast of buttered toast and orange juice before going on a morning walk. Morning walks felt like the sort of thing an Alpha, a "good person," "a model human being," and any sort of epithet he was told at Heller would do, but there wasn't much time for a full-time student to take them. The walk to the bus stop was a morning walk, actually. So that technically counted.

Marco brushed his hand against the rose bush by the front gate as he passed through, and took a sniff of the dew that collected on his hand. A few hours later it would all burn, but the early morning was the best time for preserving the ephemeral. No commuters had left yet for work, so there was no noise but the twittering of birdsong to accompany him. Truth be told, it was poor scenery: there was no rainbow but shades of gray and accents of blue and red from people's cars, and it was a route he'd walked so many times that there was nothing new to prognosticate in the peeling paint. When he thought of it that way, there was really no reason he was going on the walk to begin with, except that a few minutes away there was Foghorn Park, and from there Marco could walk along the Bay to his heart's content.

If Marco's neighborhood was defined by negation—by absence of any spaces where meaning was made—Foghorn Park was defined by its potential for greatness. As a kid, Marco would swing from the willow branches that hung despondently over the grass, until one time his father had told him he was too heavy. "How could a tiny kid like him overpower such a great tree?" he had asked (though likely in a less articulate way). But his father's word was final. There was more to do there than play Tarzan: he could admire the inlet that eventually ran into the Bay, the equivalent of a movie trailer for the real star of the show. A great blue heron strode next to the iceplants, looking for its next prey. Once Jessica had idly mentioned to him that when she was walking through the park, she had seen fish. Marco had never seen fish, but certainly if there were waterfowl there were fish.

Marco lingered by one of the willow trees for a few minutes, and slowly people walking their dogs and other residents of the neighborhood trickled in; the park was no longer his alone. One time a club lecture (he only attended live when Priya and Jessica dragged him along, but he'd often listen to the recordings while doing his homework) had talked about the tragedy of the commons, with the idea being that every member of a community had joint ownership over its space—and consequently, joint stewardship. As usually happened with such sensible ideas at Heller, this train of thought had been distorted to explain how as Heller Tigers, they were obligated not just to pick up trash, but sign up for extra afterschool volunteer shifts to complete their civic duty. The school was like a garden, and depending on the day the students, the buildings, the connections, or the literal garden could all be the flowers to be tended. But here, in the land of reasoning, Marco was content to practice what was preached by nodding his head in greeting to those who passed.

Marco nodded at a boy about his age who walked by, seemingly in deep contemplation, and then recognized him as Harry Collins, an Alpha his year who everyone in the know laughed at behind his back, both out of a sense of pity and because they recognized some humor in his sorry state. Harry didn't consider himself to be in a sorry state: he was happy because he told himself he was happy, because he had a girlfriend (and she was an Alpha!), and because life had been going well for him thanks to the guiding words of mentors like President Haneul and all those who'd come before her. Everyone knew Harry was happy, but that did not change the perception that he had been guilefully manipulated by the school into being happy.

"Hey, Harry!" Marco called out. Harry turned to Marco with a genial smile, as if they were great friends.

"Hey, Marco. How's it going? Be your own sunshine."

"I'm doing all right. I forgot to turn off my alarm this morning, so I thought I'd stretch my legs and enjoy nature. I used to come here on walks when I was a kid," he explained, gesturing broadly at the natural features.

"I don't walk this way much anymore. Daisy lives in the other direction. It's nicer there—there are ducks, and then we can walk to that other park by the dim sum restaurant with the pavilion and everything. But this is closer to where I live, and so when I'm by myself I come here."

"There's nothing wrong with walking by yourself."

"It's less nice here," Harry said sharply. "So what positions did you apply for?"

"For next year? I haven't thought that far ahead yet. I really wanted to focus on college applications this summer."

"What rank are you?"

"Gamma."

"That figures. I don't mean that in a judging way—no offense intended. It's just that you aren't expected to take official positions."

"None taken," Marco laughed.

"But just think, they could really help you with your college applications, if you could say you were a secretary of something or other. I'm a speechwriter for the presidential cabinet now, and if I'm being frank, I didn't think I'd get the position. I'm rather unqualified."

"Will you put that part in your college applications?"

"An adversity story? Not at all. It's not real adversity. Anyway, care to walk with me?" Harry asked. Marco followed his lead, and they walked briskly—a club commandment, one of the foundational ones that was apparently as pivotal as doing good and "bubble tea is the scourge of the civilized world," was to maintain a fifteen-minute mile walking pace. It was one of the club's better ideas.

"So what are you doing this summer?" Marco asked Harry.

"Probably some club workshops. They're offering free college counseling workshops, bringing in a bunch of alumni to help out who've gone through the process. My parents went to community college, so they don't really know how it all works. You could sign up, too."

"I think I can manage myself. But why not consider community college?"

"Why aren't you?" Harry asked incisively.

"I want the full four years of the college experience. More opportunities to develop friendships, and I don't know, plant my roots."

"I get that. They've been saying they want more Alphas and Betas to go to community college to help with the club branches there, and it really is more affordable, but with the club scholarships—if I get them—and financial aid I think I can afford going to a four-year. Don't tell anyone else I said this, Marco, but I think they only direct the worse Alphas and Betas to go that route."

"But if we're supposed to be financially prudent, wouldn't it be more sensible if the best Alphas and Betas went to community college, and used the money to invest in startups or whatever y'all do?"

"It's more nuanced than that," Harry said, and Marco had had his fill of club doctrine for a Friday morning. They summited a small hill that overlooked the Bay; the grasses around them were beginning to lose their green in the heat, but still supported poppies and other flowers Marco did not know the name of.

"It's a great view," Harry said, shielding his eyes as if he were staring off a mountain peak.

"You know, this hill didn't use to be here. We're standing on top of a landfill. They piled some dirt on top, let nature run its course, and now we have a hill," Marco explained.

Harry lowered his hand and frowned. "That kind of ruins the view for me. I'd rather not know I'm standing on top of garbage."

"There's still plenty of beauty around you. You can barely see Mt. Diablo across the water, there's San Francisco in the distance, all those trees over by the marina, the birds flocking around... it's all very scenic."

"I guess you're right."

"And of course all of this used to be completely wooded, before the Spanish logged everything and built their missions. You'd have to go north, to like Mendocino and Eureka, to see how this place used to be."

"That's even worse!" Harry exclaimed.

"Didn't you have to do that project in fourth grade? And you remember in APUSH, when Mr. Simon talked about all the lies your teachers had told you."

"History was never my strong subject. It always feels so far removed from the present, where I'd rather study something more practical."

"History's all around us: those who don't study the past are doomed to repeat it."

"I think President Frank said that once, freshman year. There will never be another like him."

"I'm sure he did. Hold on—my mom just texted me asking if I could buy milk, since I'm already out. I should head back, it's in the opposite direction."

"No worries. I'm going to stay here and think a bit."

"Bye, Harry," Marco said, and he began his solitary walk down the hill, through the park, and back to suburbia.

Marco's shopping cart squeaked on the floor, and one of the front wheels kept trying to go askew; he pushed on, past the produce section and through the bread aisle to the dairy products. He rarely went grocery shopping, not because he didn't think it was his social responsibility, but because a few weeks ago he had been tasked with buying out Whole Foods' stock of celery for a club event. Before his time, President Frank had made the club's seed money by selling celery juice vape pods to his peers and making them think they had a psychoactive effect—Marco's reaction to hearing that the first time was the same as any sane person's, but it was not the strangest thing to happen at Heller. After that, the narrative had been reinvented to portray celery juice as a symbol of club identity, something only they were brave enough to consume. The secondhand embarrassment of pushing a cart of celery around Whole Foods was enough that Marco had not yet gone back. Too expensive and too far away.

This time, Marco stuck with the milk and the milk alone. He placed the milk on the conveyor belt, then felt silly only buying one item and added a pack of sugar-free gum.

"You're buying groceries so early in the morning?" the cashier, an elderly man with a wispy beard, asked. "Doing some shopping before school?"

"No, school's done for the year. I'm on summer break," Marco said.

"And you're still awake this early?"

"I forgot to turn off my alarm."

"Whenever I do that, I roll over and go to bed again," the cashier helpfully explained. "Have a good day."

"You too."

By the time Marco had returned home, his parents had left for work, and even though it was still early Marco felt like he'd already wasted his day walking back and forth through streets he'd often walked before. The day had begun for everyone else, which meant Isaac had woken up and sent Marco his usual daily meme, which had undoubtedly been sent to all his other friends.

Today it was an image of a bespectacled man beholding a butterfly labeled "a colorful tie," and asking in a rhetorical tradition dating back to Protagoras if it were "an upwelling of moral corruption"—all naturally funny people know that jokes benefit from explanation, and Marco recalled an incident when one gauchely dressed Alpha had been berated for showing a bit too much personality in his clothing. This Alpha became a Beta until they had earned forgiveness, and while many applauded the moral dogmatism in this decision, when some other gossip from orchestra leaked to the public, it had become clear this was a premeditated conflict. Such was life, and such incidents the "gatesofheller" Instagram account documented through the best medicine known to man. Was the meme funny enough to warrant the "ha-ha" reaction Marco gave on iMessage? Like the appropriateness of a tie, humor was in the eye of the beholder; Heller students knew this lesson well, and thus resonated with the memes.

"How's vacation going?" Isaac texted.

"Barely awake. Went for a walk and saw Harry Collins," Marco responded.

"What are the chances?"

"We went to the same elementary school. Figures he lives around here."

"He's always treated me worse since I became a Beta. IDK, could be worse."

"Why did you become a Beta again?"

"Lab safety issue in AP Physics. I kinda built a Rube Goldberg machine by accident."

Marco chuckled, then typed "LMAO." Accidents of the deliberate sort drew themselves to Isaac like their female compatriots were drawn to pumpkin spice lattes (until President Frank had deemed them an assault on something he termed "decorative gourd season," which was met by an entreaty from Vice President Juliet that she was quite fond of them and would hate to lose such a heart-warming indulgence, to which President Frank had responded, in perhaps the most democratic moment of his administration, that popular demand had deemed pumpkin spice lattes kosher).

"What are the chances?" Marco typed back.

"I don't know."

"Says the person who carries a pair of dice with them everywhere they go."

"They're good-luck charms. Coins are too cliche. I'm going back to bed," Isaac texted.

A few hours and pages of paperwork later, Jessica texted a group chat of the four of them—Marco, Priya, Isaac, and herself—asking if anyone wanted to go to the mall, and it took Marco a second to remember that malls were the sort of places that people his age went for fun. He was never a religious sort, though veins of spirituality occasionally crept into his thoughts, so he understood the importance of venerating the ancestral temple of consumerism.

Priya had plans with Kenny—"unfortunately," she had written, either referring to missing their company or being with Kenny—and Isaac said he was busy, so that left the two of them. It was settled they'd meet for lunch there, which meant that Marco had to stand up, stretch his shoulders, and get ready for the day. The weather seemed fit for shorts, and he certainly never got to wear them at school, so he changed clothes and set out on his quest.

Certainly he could have asked Jessica for a ride, though he didn't know if she were taking herself or if Jason were doing his brotherly duty and giving her a ride. The old guard—those who helped engineer the How To Be A Good Person Club's rise—had not yet faded out of living memory at Heller, even though they had graduated two years past. Sometimes they were spoken of in whispers, as if they were watching and could be summoned like Beetlejuice at any moment; sometimes they did have a knack for showing up when mentioned. While their primary focus was the club's collegiate expansion, they were also the nostalgic sort, and sometimes there was nothing better to do than take a trip down memory lane and micromanage some Alphas or deliver a guest seminar or suggest new ways of propagandizing the youth. Jason was especially obsessed with TigerTalk, the Heller academic portal he had coded which also served as the club's way of controlling its members off the clock, though beyond this, Marco always assumed Jason wanted to take care of Jessica in the only way he knew how.

He certainly didn't want to share a car with Jason, so Marco boarded the bus and sat tight for the ambling half-hour ride to the mall. There was a club meeting—it felt superficial to rely on the club for all his moral insights, but there was a lot they covered—once discussing the value of time, and how some philosopher had once claimed that to be philosophical was in some ways synonymous with having an abundance of time: if you were rich enough to be leisurely, you had the time to ponder weighty moral questions. There was no opportunity in this framework for someone plowing the fields to contemplate Sisyphus. Philosophy, then, was the domain of the privileged, those privileged enough to have the opportunity to do nothing else but think.

The bus being empty did make the trip go more quickly, with fewer stops and starts, but that led Marco to wonder why in such a green state as California, people avoided public transit. Perhaps it was the independence of it all: being driven by someone else made one reliant on that someone, and with a Silicon Valley framework of quid pro quo that could not stand. And that was why Marco didn't ask Jessica for a ride: there was no such thing as a truly charitable gesture, even between friends, and most especially if Jason were at the wheel. The bus driver would proceed on his route no matter if Marco were there, so in that way, Marco owed him nothing.

Marco thanked the bus driver, as good custom dictated, and disembarked by one of the mall's side entrances. The San Sebastian Mall had recently remodeled one half to be in accordance with modern design sensibilities, adding a lawn and movie theater and boba shop—that half was for the young people, leaving the old with a cavernous, marble-tiled space that had potted plants and statues scaled up proportionally to fit. It gave a certain Alice in Wonderland vibe to it all; perhaps if an archaeologist were to find the mall preserved under a layer of ash like Pompeii, they'd assume that it was once populated by a land of giant people who occupied their days eating at Cinnabon and shopping at Nordstrom.

Jessica wanted to meet in the newer half, and was waiting at a bench by a new ramen place that had opened recently, and already had a line at 11 AM. Marco couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her dressed casually—her fastidiousness with her formal outfits was so noticeable that this felt improper, and suddenly Marco felt like an Alpha snitching on another for breaking dress code.

"I don't get the hype around new restaurants like that," Marco said to her. "The restaurant will be around for months, and with shorter lines. Why don't people wait until then?"

"Because it's more Instagrammable, duh." She rolled her eyes.

"So what do you want to do here?"

"I don't know, I was bored. Aren't kids like us supposed to go to the mall for fun?"

"I guess we could walk around and get lunch someplace."

"Sounds good to me," she said, and they started walking, going inside from the sunny wing to the pallid white space—Marco couldn't think of a more precise word. Perhaps a gallery? But a gallery implied there was more to see than storefronts, that there was something more elegant on display.

"Do you want to go in any of the stores and actually buy something?" Marco asked Jessica.

"I feel like I have enough clothes—I mean, I do like new clothes, but I haven't gotten bored of what I have. Ooh, I bought a new sundress recently, want to see it?"

"Sure?"

Jessica pulled out her phone and showed Marco a floral-print sundress laid out on her bed. It looked a bit like a shower curtain, but in an aesthetically pleasing way.

"Looks good. Good choice with how hot it's been lately."

"I hate this weather. I hope I get into UChicago or somewhere nice and chilly."

"Is that your dream school?"

"I don't know what I want to do yet. The campus looks nice, though. I saw a TikTok about it."

"Where you go doesn't determine what you do. Sure, UChicago's known for economics, and math, and that sort of thing, but they have all sorts of majors." Jessica's eyes lit up, like this was new information.

"That's a good point."

"You know, I was having this chat with Harry earlier. Ran into him on my morning walk."

"It's very romantic, how Harry and Daisy met. I was in his English class, and he turned from this cowardly little guy into someone who looked like he knew his place in the world. It's all thanks to Daisy. She's so, so sweet." Jessica pointed out some white-and-yellow irises in a flower pot.

"Look, we're talking about Daisy, and there are some flowers that are the same color! I love flowers. Roses, whatever else, you name them. I wish we had flowers at home, but my parents only plant edible stuff. Herbs, fruits and veggies, some bitter melon. And of course Jason would never garden."

"You could plant them. Be your own sunshine," Marco laughed, and Jessica beamed.

"I could! You're totally right. Can you plant flowers in the summer?"

"My mom always told me you're supposed to plant in the spring and fall. Not summer, not winter. The weather's too harsh."

"I'll make it work."

A circuit of the mall and two overpriced hamburgers later, they'd had their fill of walking, and sat down at the bench where they began.

"I like socializing. It's only been a day since school ended, and I already miss all my friends," Jessica said.

"Forgive me if today I've been making the decisions for both of us today, but you could always hang out with them over the summer."

"Nah, a lot of them are busy. Summer camps and vacations and everything. I'd sign up for some, but being home with Jason may as well be being at school. He's been on a lot of business trips though, doesn't really stay around the house, and when he does, he hides in his room anyway. That's just what guys do."

"Yeah..." Marco said, drawing out his breath.

"I feel like we talk more about my brother than we talk about me," Jessica said after a few moments' thought.

"He's an interesting guy. And that time, you brought him up. I don't think I talk about him much at all."

"I suppose that's fair. Anyway, I'm kinda tired. I might just go home and take a nap before starting on my summer reading and college essays."

"For school or for the club?"

"For fun—also for school and the club, but I like reading. I've gotten really into BookTok lately."

"I should read more."

"It's important for a healthy mind," Jessica declared. "Shall we go? I can drop you off at your place."

"Yeah, let's go," Marco said, and they walked to the parking garage. A dollar saved—a drop in the bucket compared to what the burger and fries cost, but it was the principle that mattered.