“It’s…” She had no way of ever understanding the gravity of my need for perfection in all things recorded in the file. “I got careless,” I said. “I like him so much. I’ve never let myself down, ever, until this, which means I like him too much. I need to finish foster care the way I started.”

She sat back in her chair, blew her hair off her face, and looked half-stern, half-sad.

“Okay, so that means, what, having no friends? No boyfriends? Giving yourself an ulcer over being a few minutes late, for getting caught up with talking to a boy and enjoying some nice, refreshing damn froyo?”

“Thirty-two minutes,” I said into my sandwich.

She sat forward and leaned on her elbows toward me. “You know what we talked about in psych today?”

“Um, about how it’s not art class and you shouldn’t be there?”

She almost smiled. “I’m telling you your life now—you can tell me mine later. Shut up and listen.”

I laid my head on my arms. “Fine.”

“You need to separate the nobility of your cause from the misguided means of pursuing it.”

“What.”

“You’re buying into the sunk-cost fallacy!”

“Nope. Get back in art class.”

“Okay, look. You think you’re making a rational decision, based on the potential future value of something—the perceived value of your perfect, pristine, ulcer-producing, solitary life.”

“Oh. Okay.” My eyes rolled up into my head.

“Yes! You think your lifetime of perfection will protect you and, like, secure your future when you age out. You believe it’s going to keep you off the pipe and off the pole. It’s going to guarantee your safety and a viable income, right? But really what’s happening is, your decisions are tainted by the emotional investments you accumulate—the more you invest, the harder it becomes to abandon it.”

“Seriously, you don’t miss watercolor paints? Pottery?”

“Muir. It isn’t worth it. Don’t you feel that? You’re punishing yourself for nothing. Your brain is like, Well, we’ve done this for seventeen years, can’t stop now, my entire life of self-deprivation will have been for nothing if we stop now, but it isn’t true! You can let yourself live a little! Let Francine take care of you. You can make a mistake now and then and it won’t destroy your life. Don’t let Sean go. He is a really good guy, and he is in love with you. It’s so obvious.”

I wished she was right. She didn’t understand how aging out works—that Francine couldn’t help me. Joellen couldn’t help me. In a matter of months I would have no one but me. No matter how nice Francine was.

Unpack. Stay.

Kira suddenly looked past me and smiled. I followed her gaze and there was tall, hoodied Elliot.