“To my room.”

“To do what?”

“Homework? Hide? I don’t know. I literally have no idea what to do right now.”

She grimaces. “Maybe we should meet with your guidance counselor or your old therapist.”

I shake my head. “I just need a little time alone, okay?”

She nods. “Everything’s gonna be okay, Cham. Take an hour or so to get yourself sorted out.” She pauses, and I can see her fighting with herself to say more. “I know you think I clean too much, but you’d really feel better with a tidier room. Do you want me to do some vacuuming?”

“Ugh, Mom,” I say as I go upstairs, fighting an eye roll. “Definitely don’t come up here with that thing.” I’m too afraid I’ll get sucked in.

Selfie from the safety of my bed: mascara running down my cheeks, zoom shot on a fat tear, ketchup stain on blouse. Meant to look emo-punk, actually looks clown-hired-to-murder.

Pictures to be deleted:

• Gene’s big toe next to my big toe, appendages in like/love

• Gene shirtless and his hair wet after a ten-mile run

• Selfie of Gene and me kissing (before I knew his mouth was full of lies)

Pictures to unlike:

• Helga

• Helga and her insufferable blond hair

• Helga kissing the American flag like the United States isn’t the bully of the goddamn world

• Helga and Danika trying on identical prom dresses

• Helga dancing at Senior Show with her leg up by her eyebrow like a monster without bones who’s still more lovable than me

Picture to send the universe: middle finger up, eyes looking directly into the camera, spinach between my teeth.

A Holy shit are you okay

A Where the hell did you go?

Not okay. C

But going to be okay. C

I think C

Idk. Wtf am I supposed to do C

A honestly I say screw him

A and don’t listen to everyone at school who now thinks you’re crazy

A It’s bullshit that girls aren’t allowed to get angry

A If Gene threw things at you they definitely wouldn’t call him crazy

A Anyway, like I say screw him

A It’ll be so much more fun not to be tied down. Prom, graduation, Nicaragua. Life is happening baby we gotta soak it up.

I throw my phone across my room. Suddenly none of those things seem appealing at all. I gotta go fix this. I gotta fix it ASAP.

Text exchange with Gene:

Can we talk? C

G Are you sure you want to “talk”?

G You threw your lunch at me.

I’m really sorry about that C

Can I come over? C

G No.

I already have my sneakers on C

G Cham don’t

Already left C

Gene is watching from his window when I get to his house, breathless from the several-mile run through the woods. My mom hates me running there at night because she thinks there’s something out there that can hurt me. She’s wrong. Most things that can hurt a person are inside them already.