San Francisco's skyline erupts from the early morning fog. I keep one eye on the gas meter and one eye ahead. The white dashes of road lines and dots of reflectors flash like a hidden Morse code. At this hour, the Bay Bridge is almost empty—Sunday morning traffic was my favorite.

I can see her checking her phone. It induces a moment of deja vu; her silhouette in front of glass double doors outside a train station. I hastily clear out my cup holder—receipts, candy wrappers—and sweep it into a trash bag, which I throw in the backseat while Ari loads a suitcase, duffel bag, and cardboard box in the trunk.

I focus on adjusting the AC as she slides into the passenger seat, immediately adjusting height for her legs. She reaches over me to put a disc in the CD player.

You're not gonna ask first?

Nope. She grins at me. Predictable.

Sure, whatever, make yourself at home. Also, I can't believe you brought your whole CD collection. Even UCLA dorms don't have that much space.

I put the car in reverse, then pull out. It's a good thing city streets are confusing as all hell to navigate. It gives me a good reason to keep my eyes on the street, looking anywhere but her face.

Set a course for Golden Gate Park on my phone. Let's do...just outside Stow Lake. We're only meeting up, I don't need to pay for an hour of parking for that.

Sacramento was the least typical of the Valley towns, and it is—but only because it is bigger and more diverse, only because it has had the rivers and the legislature; its true character remains the Valley character, its virtues the Valley virtues, its sadness the Valley sadness.

Notes from a Native Daughter, Joan Didion

Jay is dragging a huge suitcase behind him as he hops off the shuttle and waves at the driver. It's the first time I've seen him in maybe three months or so—I scoop him up in a bear hug as the suitcase drifts idly down the sidewalk, which is at a slight slope.

Are you real? he says, pointing at me.

You got the most sleep out of all of us, I don't know why you're asking me. Let's get your stuff in my car before it rolls away.

I introduce Jay to my open terrarium: a nascent polka dot plant growing upon a layer of soil and river pebbles, nestled in a glass branded with UC San Diego's nanoengineering building and balanced precariously on my dashboard

It came with the acceptance package. Well, not the plant. The glass.A strip of painter's tape on the front declares its name to be "PETER (H. phyllostachya)" and a list of instructions written on the back of a receipt declares authoritatively to water it once a week, or when the top 1-2 inches of soil are dry.

A loud banging behind us, then a scraping sound as a window rolls down, announces our final arrival: Trin. They wave at us from the backseat of their car as their mom pulls haphazardly into a street parking space. Jay and Ari jump to help unload—Trin has by far the most luggage out of all of us, being the only one who puts any thought into their clothing.

Guys, it's fine. I'm so fucking good at Tetris, Ari declares, climbing into my trunk to stack Jay's trombone case against one side.

We finally get the suitcases situated as Trin exchanges a few parting words with their parents. Jay, Ari, and I have already done this: I last night, knowing they'd be asleep before I woke up to make the 2-hour drive from Sacramento to the Bay; Ari this morning at the train station in downtown San Jose; Jay maybe just an hour ago over breakfast, before walking to the bus station down the street.

Trin finally tumbles into the backseat of my car and side-hugs Jay and Ari, punching me in the shoulder. It's the first time we've all been together in what feels like forever—and yet, it feels like we're picking up right where we left off. We've all changed, almost unrecognizably in Ari's case, but it feels no different from when we said goodbye to each other in a parking lot at UC Santa Cruz.

Oh my god, it's been so long.

Well, not for us. But I haven't seen you in like, two years?

A year and a half for you. Since Labor Day in 2023.

Holy shit, we were, what, juniors back then? We were so innocent.

Crazy what junior and senior year does to a person.

I'm permanently scarred. But, hey—it's good to see you guys again.

There's an idea that everyone in the world is no more than six degrees of separation from each other. I used to find that hard to believe, being from bumfuck nowhere in the Central Valley, like the kind of city where everyone says they're "from Sacramento" because no one recognizes the name of our actual hometown. But my friends changed my mind.

We'd met before our junior year at a summer program at UC Santa Cruz that brought in high schoolers from all around California. We were, in a word, massive fucking nerds, which brought us together like matching puzzle pieces. Even after the program ended, we'd maintained an inconsistent online pen pal relationship, occasionally streaming video games or movies together over Discord.

You would think it's hard to feel like someone's real when you see them maybe once or twice a year. But nothing in my life has ever been as real as them.

It's August; the sun is already high in the sky when we reach the vista point on Strawberry Hill. A glittering mosaic of 5+1s dots the city.

I can't believe you live here, Ari complains. You're so fucking lucky. There's literally nothing to do in San Jose.

You say that, but wait till you have to pay $3000 for a studio in LA.

Ari herds us into a line for a picture. It's barely noticeable, how easily we fall back into conversation when we haven't been in the same place for a year and a half.

Lunch is boba and cheap Japanese food from a spot that Jay swears his honor upon, which we get to-go and bring to a nearby park. Jay takes over driving my car, being more experienced in city driving and less prone to road rage.

I never thought this would be possible.

That you'd get into college?

No, more like that there was a life past my high school and my town. Or I guess that we'd all be here.

This is what happens when you put a Modestan in a city with a population bigger than 50,000.

San Francisco is our meetup spot. It has been for the past two years. There wasn't much to do anywhere else in Northern California. Depsite that, we never seemed to do much at said meeutps besides lazing around in various nature areas, so I didn't know the San Francisco area very well.

I feel like I'm living out my dream of dropping out of my Bay Area high school to frolic in a field of flowers.

It's a bit late for that.

Well, you can always try again in college.

Don't say that. I'm scared you'll be right.

I wonder, briefly, if sunsets look different in San Diego. This is perhaps the stupidest thought I have had about leaving home, and I have had many. I remember that this morning was the last time I will see my hometown for several months, but being in San Francisco has delayed my reaction.

Everything is cast in orange and gold. I have never been good at meditating because I have never been good at being satisfied with my life; but if there was any time to start trying, it would be now.