“His name was Bradley Marcello.” I spat the words out quickly. “We were twelve and I had such a huge crush on him. I’d had a crush for two years. And then one night, at Libby and Rachel’s party—the most popular girls at school—they told me that Bradley wanted to play seven minutes in heaven. You know the game where you go into a closet with someone you like and do whatever?” I looked at her and she nodded. “I was naïve and stupid and an idiot to go, because of course they locked me in the closet. There was no Bradley. Just me, alone and scared in the dark cupboard for what felt like hours.”

She waited for a while and let me cry. They were familiar tears, I’d cried them many times before. And when the last of them was out, she passed me a handful of tissues. I dabbed my face. “Was that when the panic attacks started?” she asked.

I nodded. “I think it started building then, but they really started after the pool.” I took a deep breath. It was jagged and jerky and hurt my ribs. “When they pushed me in and then held my head underwater. Why are people so disgusted by fat? Why do they literally want to drown you because you weigh more? Is it so gross and distasteful, like that crack in the pavement?”

“And look what you did to that crack. You made it beautiful.”

I turned and looked up at the mountain—this defining feature that seemed to be intrinsic to Cape Town in every way.

“He touched my waist,” I suddenly said.

“Who?”

“Jake. He touched my waist, and no one has ever touched me there, like that. I—I . . . didn’t want him to feel it. Because it’s . . .” I looked away from the mountain—looking at it was irritating for some reason. It seemed to be looking down at me expectantly now. “What if he’ll want to do more than touch my waist?” I looked over at her now.

“I’m sure he will,” she said. “He’s an eighteen-year-old guy. I’m sure he wants to do a lot more than touch your waist.” She shot me a very penetrating stare. “And I’m sure you do too.”

“I’ve never thought of myself in that way,” I whispered.

“As desirable?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” I mumbled.

There was a silence again; the breeze blew and made the surface of the pool ripple.

“This is a complicated and exciting time for you, Lori,” she finally said.

I sat up and turned to her. “Is that seriously what you’re going to say to me now? Complicated and exciting?”