Now that Trash was in the picture, it seemed like he was building a new family. And yet he still complained, still spited my mother. When guilt morphed into resentment and grew so big that I was blinded by it, it seeped out of my pores and left me feeling powerless. And so I raged, sometimes just to get him to turn away from the television and feign interest in my life, to acknowledge my existence. I would act out in the hopes that he would notice, that he would tend to me. Instead, my outburst would only provide further evidence for what he already believed. “You don’t see yourself,” he’d say, sneering in my direction before turning back to the TV. “You don’t see the way you act. You’re just like her.”

•

I rotated my ankle and it cracked a few times. “He’s just always blaming her for everything, punishing her for having needs,” I said to Richard. Greg looked up as though he was going to defend himself, but then stayed quiet. “Making her out to be some kind of monster.”

MY FIRST SEXUAL EXPERIENCE OCCURRED MIDWAY through fifth grade. Upon learning about sex and its effects from my science teacher, Dr. Sabinne—she was the only teacher at our grade school with a PhD, and she insisted on being recognized for her credentials—I immediately became fascinated. At the time I couldn’t wait to try it, likely because of Dr. Sabinne’s description. “Ladies,” she said to a roomful of twelve-year-olds, “it is so good. It is so great. Girls, it is worth it!” Worth what, I wasn’t sure, but I was ready to give it a go. I had started feeling the tingle of desire a few months earlier, and during her presentation it grew into a full-fledged burn. The boys had been taken to a separate room by Mr. Nell, and I imagined they were given the same sales pitch. I figured all that was left was the pairing up. The tall girls could go off with the tall boys, the blonds with the blondes, and so on.

I chose my parents’ friends’ son, Tarek. We were about the same height and both Arabs. He came over one day after choir practice, and instead of bringing him to the kitchen for a snack I led him upstairs to my bedroom. He lay on top of me and gyrated, never quite achieving an erection. He rolled off and his blubber jiggled—he was a chubby boy—and I nuzzled my way into his arms, seeking affection. He kissed me repeatedly, closed-lipped. He smelled like Bazooka chewing gum. When he left, I wanted more.