About midway through the winter, my mother notices that I’m getting too isolated, so she brings me to the pastor of her church, who must have a certificate in talking to teenagers, because he thinks he’s really good at it. I come in at the appointed time and see that Pastor Don has set up a chessboard. I float a problem or two just to nip this therapy thing in the bud. I don’t tell him about the sucking sinkhole in my chest that, despite being empty, weighs more than I do. I don’t tell him that my best and only friend has gone to start her future without me and this winter has felt like ten years in solitary confinement, which I probably deserve, although I have no idea what I’m guilty of. Instead, I lie to him about panic attacks I get before math tests, and then I move some pawns around the board and listen earnestly while he tells me about relaxation techniques and the health benefits of a daily meditation practice.

When my mother comes to pick me up, he’s ready with a diagnosis. “I recommend a strong dose of college,” he says, smiling broadly at me.

“Yes!” she says. “Good advice.”

The winter stretches into spring. As predicted, Scot stops talking about college, and they forget about the cell phone. I get ahead of the learning curve, and school gets easier. I get my driver’s license. Junior Davis wins the wrestling championship for his weight class and has started to drink alcohol. He’s still failing math. Everybody knows that Rack is pregnant and that Junior is having nothing to do with it. One day, Rack calls me up and asks me if I want to go shopping for baby clothes with her. She says she’s finishing high school online. We spend an awkward Saturday afternoon in Walmart, looking at pink onesies and talking about names. It’s going to be a girl. She shows me an app for baby names. She can’t decide between Olivia Hope and Hannah Rose. And Penelope. “I know it’s weird,” she says about Penelope, “but it’s coming back.” The real reason she wants to see me is for news about Junior. She knows he won All-State, and she heard he started to drink, but she doesn’t know if that’s a good sign or not. Who is he seeing? What are people saying about her? Who’s flirting with him? What have I heard? Angel’s not talking to her, she says. I tell her she probably knows more about what happens at the high school than I do. She says I’m probably right. After that, she doesn’t call me again.

In Western Civ on the last day before spring vacation starts, Mr. C. walks to the back of the classroom and hands me a postcard.