Finally, she’s had enough. “I’m sick of your shit. You’re a selfish bitch.” I know she’s right. I break down in tears. But Avery is a teenage girl too. She, like me, is an ambush predator. She wants me to hurt as much as she does. Next thing I know, the rumors sweep through Spence like wildfire. Every day, a new one circulates: Cassie Quinn cheated in AP History. Cassie Quinn fucked Powell Porter. Cassie Quinn is hooked on Adderall.

Forsaken by all my friends, I can’t leave my room. I cry in my bed, won’t go to school. When my parents ask what’s wrong, I tell them, conveniently, that Avery and I had a fight. “She turned everyone against me.” They’re appropriately horrified. “No one is more dangerous than a teenage girl,” Eleanor says. She threatens to call Avery’s parents, but I beg her not to, knowing it’ll just make things worse. Marcus, meanwhile, still isn’t returning my calls. I hate him beyond all rational thought. I hate him so much I can’t swallow. I can’t breathe. I’m drowning in my own misery. I lose ten pounds, the one upside.

Frightened, Eleanor takes me to a social worker, a psychologist, a psychiatrist. No one can help me. Not because they don’t try, but because they don’t know I’m waiting. Finally, I see a shrink who suggests in-patient treatment. I’m skeptical but agree to check into a psych ward for three days. Surprisingly, it helps. In the hospital, we talk about feelings. When you feel so much, the doctor says, you get confused. So your feelings may be about other feelings than the feelings you’re feeling.

Is she speaking English, I wonder? I don’t know this language. Aloud, I apologize. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. Your words make no sense.”

Feel your feelings, she repeats. Feel your feelings.

From this, I gather one insight: the only way to leave this place is to surrender something sacred. So I tell her about Marcus. He acted like he wanted me, and I think he did, but then one day he didn’t, and left me alone with my feelings.

What are your feelings? she asks.

“Sometimes, I feel rage, sorrow, and desperation. Other times, I feel love, affection, and adoration.” What I don’t tell her is that my feelings are so deep they’re deadly, and I feel all of them, all at once, all the time. It’s too much to bear so I try to feel nothing.

She thanks me for sharing. Sometimes, she tells me, we mistake kindness for love. Gratitude for devotion. Pity for desire. As I told you, Cassie, it can be confusing.