“I don’t know anything about art so I can’t tell you that it’s watercolor or acrylic or that it’s on canvas or anything art related at all. I can tell you that it’s a painting of a hand, my hand, turned up and opened to the world and that it reaches into my body and rips out everything that’s left. Because in the palm, right in the center, is the pearl button I never reached.”

“The canvas isn’t empty. It’s full of whatever you imagine it to be full of. My art is so conceptual that not only do I not tell, but I don’t even show. All I do is sign the canvas and try to sell it.”

“Sloppy, Mega,” I mutter. I still can’t see. I wipe my bloody nose on my sleeve and reach out to feel what I hit.“That’s my dick,” Ryodan says. I snatch my hand away. “Gah!” I choke out. I can feel my face again—because, like, it’s going up in flames. What kind of universe makes me reach out at exactly that fecking level to feel what I think is a wall and puts my hand on a penis?Then I remember this is Ryodan and scowl. “You did that on purpose!” I accuse. “You saw my hand go out and you stepped right into it!” “I’d do that why, kid?”

“Tell me about it. It’s so hard to deal with a single parent. They take out all their anxiety on you. It’s like,she’s so angry all the time. And I didn’t even do anything!”“That’s so wrong.”“Yeah.”“Where’s your dad?”“I don’t know. My mom had me when she was still in high school, so . . .”“You don’t see him at all?”“No, and I don’t want to. I have no interest in maintaining a relationship with someone who didn’t loveme enough to stick around.”

“I can draw like it’s nobody’s business. I use my door as a canvas, so don’t knock, because it’s nobody’s business.”

“I love you, David. I’m sorry for not telling you, but I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you. I’m sorry I hurt you when all you ever did was love me. I need you to forgive me before . . .” I reached out for David with my left hand, “before it’s over.”