“Probably...” he said, turning back to the pitiful contents of the fridge. “Remind me to go to the store tomorrow.”

“You need a planner,” Becca said, taking a seat at the kitchen island. “Then you wouldn’t forget everything all the time.”

“You raise a good point, honey.” John moved to the “all-purpose” drawer which housed the takeout menus and random screw drivers. When he found the menu to the local pizzeria, he brought it to Becca. “Pick what you want.”

She didn’t bother looking. “I’ll have cheese.”

He sighed. “Are you and your mom still doing this vegetarian thing?”

“Uncle Johnny, it’s not just a ‘vegetarian thing.’ We’re not contributing to the senseless murder of farm animals.”

He shook his head with a chuckle. “God, it’s like listening to a tiny Jessi. I’m looking forward to two full months of your stern judgement.”

That pulled a grin out of her. “What was Mom like when she was my age?”

John leaned down against the counter and took a second to think about it. He and Jessi had gone to the same middle school, but rarely hung out in the same circles. They hadn’t really gotten to know one another until high school. “From what I can remember of your mom, I know she always had her nose in a book,” John joked. “When we got older, she was going to protests and handwriting zines with her feminist collective.”

“What’s a zine?”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s a very indie magazine pamphlet that doesn’t make any money.”

“And she was just as pretty as she is now?” Becca asked.

“Sure, I’ll bet she was as cute as you are now,” he said, reaching out to tap her upturned nose. “You both have those big brown eyes and little noses.”

Becca looked down and sighed. “Yeah right...”

John drew himself up to full height and looked down at his niece. This felt suspiciously like a landmine. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“What did we say about that?”

She gave one of those exaggerated pre-teen shrugs. “I don’t look like any of the girls at my school. I’m too tall and my hair doesn’t do what theirs does. There’s this awful group of girls in third period who sit in the back making fun of people and they keep calling me a giraffe. Sixth grade is stupid and I’m basically alone. Like, there are hardly any other black girls there. There are a couple, but they’re older girls and I’m not cool enough to be around them. And there’s this guy, Connor, he’s in fifth period P.E. and every time I see him, I think I’m going to barf. He keeps saying hi and I don’t know what to say.”

Boom.

Where does one even start?