My father used to say his generation fucked up in a lot of ways, but at least they invented rock and roll.

You can have it, I’d say. But the burnouts want it. They raised their fists in my clearing, sang the Lemon Song. They looked pretty hilarious.

What’s so funny?

She’s just high, Dean said, though they all knew I never smoked pot. I couldn’t click with that giggly, slow, stupid state of being.

No, I said, I’m not high. I’m—

Laughing at you is what I was about to say.

Dean Black covered my knee with his hand. A light pat.

What’s so funny, Ice Queen?

Everyone at school called me Ice Queen. There was always someone telling me to smile and not look so stuck-up.

I could feel moss catching in my hair. I wanted to go back to class with the dirt under my fingernails; rain streaking my mascara; a crown of twigs and moss. I hoped Dean Black would lift the steely brown brambles from my red hair.