I glower at his fingers and reach forward, plucking them off the table one by one, holding my phone in one hand. “New York is just so—it’s gross, dude. It’s too congested, and there’s so much filth, and it’s so loud, and you have to wait five years for a bus to come and another ten for the subway, given your train isn’t on an entirely different route. Wherever you go, there are people giving you dark looks for breathing, and no one ever offers a helping hand, and...” I stare at Emmitt’s pinky, the last finger remaining on the table.

“And?”

“And I don’t feel at home here,” I say quietly, setting my phone down on the table. “I can barely breathe in this city. I turn eighteen next week and I still don’t have any freedom. My parents think I’m too incompetent—”

I cut off, a lump rising in the back of my throat. I don’t know how to finish that sentence.

Emmitt doesn’t say anything, but then his pinky moves along the length of the table, nudging against mine.

“You’re so annoying,” I say, staring at our hands, our fingers touching just barely. My words hold no heat whatsoever.

He smiles faintly. “I know. You are, too.”

Though he doesn’t push, I can tell this conversation isn’t done here. There’s a sense of doom looming over me, in anticipation of the day I’ll have let everything go and finally be honest about the chaos leashed inside my chest.

I’m finishing up my Nutritional Science homework, a huge packet assigned for midwinter break, when Ma sits down across from me at the dining table, wearing her glasses and holding a fashion magazine. Anam is out on her date tonight, but throughout the rest of the break, we’ve been spending our evenings holed up in her room, both of us scrolling through our phones.

Sometimes Anam goes off on rants about her classmates, and I sit by, nodding along. Admittedly, I occasionally tune out, but for the most part, I try to listen between scrolling through my Twitter feed. Her life is far more dramatic than mine, but that isn’t saying much, as I tend to focus on film club and little else.

Since my sister was headed outside today, I decided to do my homework in the dining room, but I’m beginning to regret that decision now.

Ma looks tired, probably from her shift at Michaels. Her and Baba’s room is always a mess of arts and crafts, so she must think the benefits of working there outweigh the costs. With Baba’s job as a dentist, we’re not exactly low on funds.

I can’t help but resent that she clearly finds joy in the arts, but when I want to make a career out of it, I’m the one being ridiculous.