“And so I started going out. First it was to parties. Then on dates. If you can call them dates. Hanging out. Anything to get me out of the house. And then I found this place, here. A job. I had so many places to get out. A party one night. A boy another. And then work. Always had work. Always had school, too. It was something to do, you know? To keep from being stuck at home. I couldn’t stand it at home anymore. What my mom needed to cope was so different from what I needed. My brothers and sisters, they all escaped, too.”

Imogen spoke up first. She spoke so casually. Too casually for Daniella’s comfort. “I found this, by the way. In the break room.”

Imogen tossed a notebook at Daniella.

Daniella’s heart practically stopped for a minute. There it was. Her book of poetry. “Did you read them?”

“I didn’t have to,” said Imogen. “I’ve read them all already. Online. Every last one of your poems. You know they’re beautiful, don’t you? You write what I think we’re all too scared to say out loud. You draw these scratchy, horrifying things. Your work is so brave. So fearless. And then in real life you’re this. You’re just as scared as the rest of us. I feel like I just found out my hero is actually a Russian bot.”

Daniella nodded. Anger was something she understood. “Sometimes, I feel like my rage is infinite.”

“You really are a poet, aren’t you?” Imogen still sounded mad, but also, a little like her fury had deflated. Like the bite behind her anger was gone.

“Against all reason, yes.” Daniella shrugged. It seemed the safest gesture.

Rinn, who had been watching the two, just nodded. “A regular Mr. Darcy.”

Daniella looked up, squinted. “What?”

“You liked poetry against your will, against your reason, and even against your character?” Rinn looked slightly less certain of herself now.

Both Daniella and Imogen shook their heads. They didn’t get it.

Rinn looked away again, embarrassed. “Never mind.”

Daniella, however, reached out, took Rinn’s hand for a moment, just to get her attention. “No, don’t be ashamed. Just because I don’t get it. I mean, I feel like secretly writing poetry is how I ended up like this in the first place. You at least talk about the things that you love. You at least can share them with people.”

Rinn flushed all the way from her neck to her hairline. “Thanks.”

Daniella tapped the cover of her notebook. She looked over to Imogen. “Where’d you find it?”

“Break room. I thought it was the financial ledger.” Imogen was watching Daniella the way a wary cat watches a stranger in their home. Friend or foe?