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mom in it, but it’s impossible. Instead, I imagine the faceless man. The man who didn’t want kids. The man who never wanted me. I sip at the coffee and try to swallow back my emotions.
    â€œDaddy!” a little girl screams. She runs past me, her face streaming with tears and terror. No one pays attention, so I stand and run and catch up. I place my hand on her arm, and she stops and I kneel down in front of her.
    â€œYou okay, honey?”
    Her lip quivers, and she shakes her head. “I can’t find my daddy.”
    â€œIt’s okay. I’ll help you find him.” I put out my hand, and she fits her teeny one inside mine. I smile. I’ve always loved little kids. I’ve been researching degrees that lead to careers working with kids. We walk to the information desk, and there’s a man standing beside it. The little girl drops my hand and runs to him, hugging his legs. He bends over and scoops her into the air, swinging her around and planting a kiss on her cheek.
    â€œWhere did you go, my little monkey?” he says. “I was so worried.” I turn and walk back to the coffee shop. “Thank you, miss,” the man is calling, but I ignore him and go back to my table and pick up my full coffee. I walk to the garbage can and pitch it in the trash. Five bucks down the drain but what does it matter? I probably won’t be going to college now anyhow.
    When I get back to my mom’s hospital room, the nurse is inside checking Mom’s vitals. Josh and Jake are standing by the window. The nurse pointedly looks at each of us and tells us Mom needs to rest. The boys kiss Mom on her cheek and I pat her arm, and we leave.
    â€œShe’s going to be fine,” Jake says as we wait for the elevator in the hallway.
    â€œWe need to get her a truckload of Nicorette gum. Hopefully, she’ll go through most of the withdrawal while she’s here,” I say. “She has to quit smoking.”
    Jake agrees, and then the elevator door opens and we all pile inside. Josh presses the parking lot button, and we ride down without a word.
    â€œMy car better not have a scratch on it,” Josh says when the doors open again. We walk toward the spot where Adam left his car, but instead of answering, I take out my phone and turn it on. I go straight to Twitter and punch out a message.
    My dad isn’t dead after all. #truestory
    I don’t check my messages or even look at my follower status. I shut off the phone and leave it off. When we get home, I go straight to my room, curl up in a ball on my bed, and let the sadness I’ve been holding off pour in and then back out. I consciously let myself feel. Instead of fighting it, I embrace and let it in. Remorse. Self-pity. So. Much. Fear. About the dad I don’t know. For my mom.
    I don’t want her to die.
    Finally when I’m emotionally and physically done, I roll onto my side, sit up, and reach for my phone. I turn it on and my phone pings with texts I missed. I have dozens of @ interactions in response to my last tweet. Notes from friends.
    More new followers.
    An @ message catches my eye. From @therealMcSteamy.
    Do you want me to kick him for you?
    I squint and look closer.
    I click on the profile.
    The user pic is Adam.
    He’s following me on Twitter.
    I feel more exposed than I did when my video went viral.

chapter four
    3. Rocking out to “Sexy and I Know It” in my underwear is a totally good idea.
    #thingsithoughtweretrue
    Josh drives Jake and me to the hospital the next day, but Mom is cranky and insists we leave. She says she’s tired and wants to sleep. The nurses assure us she’s fine, and frankly we’re afraid to disobey her, so we leave.
    Josh and Jake both work in construction, at a development not far from Tinkerpark, so Josh drops me off at work. I end up walking through the entrance gate half an hour before my shift starts. I force myself to smile at a couple of girls