“Hey. It’s me. Your sister.” Why did I say that? She knows who I am. Ugh, I can’t escape the awkward even with family. “I know you’re busy, but . . . can you call me? Whenever you can. Miss you.”

I end the call and slump back in the drivers’ seat.

My eyes are dry and grubby. I still can’t believe it. I’ve been kicked out of the dorms, of any official university housing. I can appeal the decision, but it has to go in front of the housing board and not for another month, at least. I can request an emergency session but that involves paperwork and waiting and a bunch of bureaucratic malarkey that will probably get me nowhere since I have family locally.

Tears burn behind my eyes but I refuse to let them fall.

Scarlett would tell me to find the bright side. She’s the only person who really understands me. But she moved to New York last year and now she’s starting some kind of food truck so she can pay her big-city rent and she’s too busy to deal with my problems.

I take a deep breath and try and look at the positive aspects of my current situation.

It’s the basis of cognitive behavioral therapy—imitating optimism and the things you want in your life to help you actualize them.

I take a deep breath. Okay. Here we go. Bright side. I didn’t want to live with Abby anyway. Going home is better. More comfortable. I’ll actually get some sleep. I won’t be derided constantly. I won’t have to see people so much. People don’t generally like me and I’ve never gotten close enough to determine if I like them either.

I’ll have more time to myself. I won’t be expected to socialize. I won’t be judged for my lack of fancy clothes, my affinity for books, or the way I talk.

The only thing I’ll have to deal with at home is Granny.

The thought makes me wince.

She might be more trouble than it’s worth.

I pull out of the dorm parking lot and into traffic, glancing back to watch the building disappear in my rear view.

The first day I moved into the dorms, Abby took one look at my plain T-shirt and simple haircut and rolled her eyes. Then she saw my advanced class schedule and things really went downhill.

I was never cool enough. Pretty enough. Social enough. Never enough enough to be friends with her and her clique. Or anyone really.

I throw away the memories of the past year living with Abby and the hell that came with it. I have more important issues to contend with.

I pass through Main Street and head north, past the Frostee Freeze, where the popular kids gather for burgers and ice cream, past the movie theater that only has two showings on weekends, all places I don’t go.

I wave at ol’ Roy, a local homeless man who sits outside the H-E-B and waves at everyone who drives by. Well, almost everyone.