“He’s my bodyguard,” I said tightly. “You know that. I don’t trust you. I should walk away from this, but I’m here, and I’m going to take a look. He stays. Got a problem, take it up with my mom.”

“This is so cool,” I said as Dad walked away. “Have you met the tattoo artist? Is he hot?“He’s a she,” Mom said.“Is she hot? Cause I’m still young, you know. My sexual identity isn’t fully formed.”

“If you’re going to need me, even if it’s just to yell at, I’m going to stay right here.”“No, I want to take a shower. I’m not about to if you stay out there.”“Excuse me, but-huh? Then there will be two doors between you and me.”Some of the blood stayed in my cheeks as I found myself spluttering, “But you’ll know I’m taking a shower!”“You just told me you were going to!”

“I’m going to walk over to you,” I say, taking one step at a time in her direction like I’m talking down a jumper. “I’m going to put my arms around you and I’m going to hold you,” I pause before taking the last step, “and you’re going to let me.”

“You look…” he shook his head looking her up and down, “You look delicious. If I don’t get you out of here, I’m going to devour you like it’s my birthday, and you’re my cake.”

“I can’t function here anymore. I mean in life: I can’t function in this life. I’m no better off than when I was in bed last night, with one difference: when I was in my own bed—or my mom’s—I could do something about it; now that I’m here I can’t do anything. I can’t ride my bike to the Brooklyn Bridge; I can’t take a whole bunch of pills and go for the good sleep; the only thing I can do is crush my head in the toilet seat, and I still don’t even know if that would work. They take away your options and all you can do is live, and it’s just like Humble said: I’m not afraid of dying; I’m afraid of living. I was afraid before, but I’m afraid even more now that I’m a public joke. The teachers are going to hear from the students. They’ll think I’m trying to make an excuse for bad work.”