He rubbed his fingers over his forehead. “No, I don’t want that. Your mother will always be part of our lives.” He let his hand drop. “You’ve turned the same color as those white sheets you’re holding. Are you doing okay, Izzy? Really?”

“I’m great.” The words flowed automatically. She’d said them so many times she almost believed them, even though a part of her was wondering why this was happening to her. What had she done to deserve it? She wasn’t perfect, but she wasn’t awful. She recycled. She’d given money to save endangered whales. She hadn’t yelled when Molly had spilled blackcurrant juice on her favorite sweater.

“If you ever want to talk—” He paused. “It doesn’t have to be to me. The hospital gave me the name of someone. A psychologist. I mentioned it a while back and you didn’t want to, but if you change your mind—”

“I haven’t changed my mind.” She couldn’t think of anything more awkward. No way could she tell anyone what was going on in her head. It was just too big. And there was no one she trusted. She couldn’t even write about this on her blog, and she spilled everything there. She called it The Real Teen, and talked about everything from periods to her views on global warming. It was anonymous, and that was so freeing. She wrote things she would never say aloud. Things she could never say to her dad, and things she could never say even to her friends. She’d done it for herself, and had been surprised to quickly gain a following. It had grown at a ridiculous rate, and now people left comments. Sometimes just an OMG I feel the same way, but occasionally a longer reply detailing the issues in her own life and telling Izzy how much her post had helped. It gave her a buzz to know she was helping people. She liked saying things that others were afraid to say. While her friends were posting selfies and talking about clothes and makeup, she talked about the serious stuff. Words had so much power. She didn’t understand how so few people seemed to get that.

She’d already decided she wanted to be a journalist. Not the sort that interviewed celebrities on red carpets about subjects that mattered to no one, but the sort who shone a light into dark corners. She wanted to tell truths and expose lies. She wanted to change the world.

Her father was watching her. “I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t.” She didn’t want him worrying about her. She didn’t want to be a burden.

“We should be talking about college. Maybe we should do a few campus visits.”