I was alone in a strange room with five empty bunk beds, and my loneliness felt like it encompassed the world. I placed a picture of my family on the desk where I was to study that year and held back the tears. I had arrived at boarding school, and I was afraid. Then, the door banged open to make way for a large trunk. It scraped its way between the bunks, shouldered by a boy with a guitar on his back. He wrangled the box into the area opposite mine, sat on it victoriously, and swung the guitar to his knee. I pretended not to notice, hiding my sorrow, as he tuned the strings. The notes were bright. I had never heard someone tune a guitar before. “Hey,” the boy said as he plucked. “I’m Mark.” “I’m Sean,” I said. “You look sad, Sean. Miss your mommy?” Mark asked. …