At about six a.m., Danny (mostmagicalD aka MOSTMAGICALD) popped into the comments.

MOSTMAGICALD: Oh look! A bunch of straight people with no imagination commenting on something they know nothing about! Cool.

DRAGONPINKQUEEN:

MOSTMAGICALD: Oh wow! Vigorous intellectual debate. Greenville seems like tons of fun!

DRAGONPINKQUEEN: Don’t care if you have fun here asshole.

DRAGONBALL88:

MOSTMAGICALD: #tackybitcheswithlotstosay

DRAGONPINKQUEEN: Maybe fuck off?

MOSTMAGICALD: Um do you know your name sounds like dragon vagina?

A few seconds later my phone buzzed.

DANNY

Hey. RU ok? Do you want me to come and slay some dragons for you?

ANNE

No. I’m just sitting here in the middle of nowhere seriously debating getting on a bus back to Petaluma.

DANNY

Then things must REALLY be bad.

Danny lives in Chicago and thinks anywhere that is not Chicago sucks.

I flipped over to Pic-o-gram on my phone and deleted the photo. Which I instantly regretted. Because it’s like they somehow convinced me to erase myself.

FYI, the choice between being yourself and being shit on is not mine alone, but it universally sucks.

So there I was, Sunday morning, drowning in a special formula of self-loathing and regret when Millie knocked on the door.

“Hey,” she said, pointedly walking around my still-unpacked boxes and piles of clothes. “I need you to come with me to a shoot today. Are you free?”

“Today?” I flopped back in my bed, hoping to convey with that one word that I was overwhelmed with life and in no position to be of any help to anyone. “It’s SUNday. And I’m grounded.”

“Yes, it is, and yes, you are, but you will be under my supervision, and you don’t want to do it, so it’s still sort of a punishment.” Millie nodded briskly, taking one last look. “Come on, I’ll buy you a probably subpar breakfast burrito.”

It was pretty subpar. (What is up with Greenville and normally tasty takeout foods?) But it was definitely more satisfying than cold cereal and sitting in my room feeling like crap.

The shoot was for one of Millie’s portraits for her series on aging, at a location just outside Greenville, a little town called Avonlee. Avonlee might be the most adorable place I’ve ever been; it’s a hamlet behind a curtain of trees with tiny little flowers. Driving there was like entering a snow globe of petals.

“So,” Millie asked, flicking on the windshield wipers to brush the floral confetti off the windshield, “should we talk about your photoshoot yesterday?”

“You saw it on my photos?”

“You’re shocked your moms are lurking on your social media? The only reason I use any of those apps is to spy on your life. Plus my mom said I should take a look.” Millie raised an eyebrow. “The comments seemed. . .pretty rough.”