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11:05 a.m.

All these cameras outside my house make me feel like I’m on a movie set.

What role should I play to make these reporters go away? I’ll look like a psychopath if I go out there with all smiles as

Happy , but I can put on a show as Sad by getting down on my knees and begging for forgiveness. I can stare into the

camera and apologize directly to Alano. Once I’m done apologizing, I’ll stand there and wait for the reporters to apologize

to me. They’re out there acting like I’m the same as Dad, a man who abused Mom over and over for years, when I didn’t even

lay a finger on Alano. How the fuck is that fair? It’s not, but they don’t give a shit, just like they don’t give a shit about

an apology; all they want is more proof that I’m Crazy . I’m gonna go outside and give them what they want—

No, no, no, I’m not gonna be defined by this one moment. That’s not me—

Actually, they’re right, it’s not this one moment, I now have multiple offenses—

I made a mistake threatening to punch Alano, one I would apologize for—

No, Alano should apologize because he did more damage by messing with my head—

I have no right to hit another person unless it’s self-defense—

Not even then, according to a shit ton of people—

I wish I never raised my fist at Alano—

I wish I never met Alano.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, rescuing me from the spiral. My heart races, hoping it’s the boy I wish I never met, but it’s

just an email from the Make-A-Moment manager following up about my job application. I’m not surprised Ross is rejecting me

for the position, but I’m surprised by how pissed off I am. This job was supposed to be Alano’s proof that I could still have

a future, and now I’ll never know if I’m not being hired because I almost punched Alano or because I killed Dad.

I get up from the couch, limping toward my bedroom.

“Where are you going?” Mom asks, trapped at home with me.

“I’m gonna call Raquel.”

Nothing like the closed-door privacy of a fake call with my therapist to self-harm in peace.