It started with Portia’s Life Orientation assignment.
She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, surrounded by worksheets and highlighters, chewing on the back of a pen.
“Henry,” she said, “what’s your purpose?”
He looked up from the couch, mouth half full of Otees. “Huh?”
“Your purpose. You know—your reason for being alive. The thing you’re meant to do with your life.”
Henry rolled his eyes. “I’m thirteen. I’m still figuring out how to solve for x. I’m not ready for life’s big questions.”
Portia scribbled something, then looked up again. “You don’t think about it sometimes? Like—what you’re here to do?”
“I think I’m here to chill, play FIFA, and not die of boredom,” he said with a grin.
Portia threw a cushion at him. “You’re so unserious.”
Henry shrugged. “Ma
