Soon I hear Reg’s car pulling into the driveway. People like him: they start off in high school, the giant petri dish, and everything is handed to them. They are cool. Life is easy. The Aidans and the Breannes and the Paiges of the world—I can see the future laid out for them like a movie in my head. No one ever tells them they can’t. They grow up to become the kind of person who makes jokes about your body when you aren’t even ready to give away your stuffed animals.

There is a hot lump in my throat and tears trying to get out, but I push them away. I hear Reg laughing with my mom when she tells him why I’m home. They are murmuring and giggling.

Another car arrives, and Mom yells, “Stevie, we’ll be in the salon; I’ve got appointments all afternoon. Your lunch is on the table!”

“Stay out of the liquor cabinet, ya lush!” Reg shouts, snickering.

Soon I hear him guffawing from below me in the salon. His laugh coming through the vent, my mom chuckling along with him. And suddenly I think of last night: someone laughing, a foggy mirage of a couch. Someone saying don’t, don’t. Was it me? I briefly wonder what is happening in the Pandora’s Box that is my phone. What will happen if I open it?

*   *   *

There is knocking at the door while I’m sitting in the kitchen. I figure it is one of Mom’s clients who forgot that the entrance to the salon is through the side door, leading to the basement. I sigh, tossing my grilled-cheese plate in the sink and wiping my face with the back of my hand.

It’s Lottie.

I stand aside and let her come in.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yes.”

She nods.

“Why aren’t you at school?” I ask.

“It’s almost the end of term. I think I’ll survive without going to Math.”

“Right. So, you wanna—” I gesture up the stairs to the kitchen. She shrugs, yes.

I open two pops and put them on the table. We sit down and it feels stupid and formal. But I am on a tight schedule now. I have things I need to get done.

“Were you there last night, when—?”

She shakes her head. “No. I’d already left. I saw all the stuff about it later, though. Pictures …”

“Right. Well.” My stomach tightens and turns over. “Fuck that.”

“Yeah,” says Lottie. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to, I don’t know, see if you were okay.” She sips her drink and looks away. “I was so afraid something like this would happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Just that I was worried someone would do something to you, you know, to get even or whatever.”