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really chew it, he sort of maws it around in his beautiful, wide mouth. His lips are wet with the juice. It’s almost too much to take.
    “You can’t close your teeth because it’s full of rocks. Then you just have to swallow it all to taste the sweet part.”
    Bullshit, he’s not speaking in metaphors. Thick skin covered in spikes. Put up with the rocks to taste the sweet part. Guess what, fuckface, I’ve taken a literature class.
    He offers it to me, his lips glistening with the sweet juice, expecting me to bite from the fruit he’s already eaten. And God, how I want to. I’d love to taste it directly from his lips.
    But this isn’t appropriate behavior from the director of the program. Truth be told, I shouldn’t even be in the room alone with him, let alone accepting personal gifts while daydreaming about kissing him.
    “Can you leave one here? I just brushed my teeth. I don’t really want to eat fruit with my coffee.”
    His face falls with my rejection, and I feel like a monster. I know how much bruised kids seek approval, but it’s just not safe for me to be the one to give it to him.
    He crushes the fruit that was between us into the paper towels and tosses it into the garbage. He shrugs his shoulders and leans the canvas up against my barren wall.
    “Amir said he’d come by after sign-in to hang it. I’d do it for you but participants aren’t allowed to use the drill.”
    With that he walks out of my office.
    I grab the fruit and study it in my palm. I run the tip of my finger over its smooth skin. I feel a painful prick and jump a little at the shock of it. A lone drop of blood balloons on my fingertip, and I watch it move from a pinpoint to droplet before I pop it in my mouth and suck it.
    I slice the ends off of the tuna and split the skin down the side like he did. I peel it off by pressing my thumb under the thick flesh and it falls away easily. I bring the fruit to my mouth and bite with out closing my teeth. The fruit is so juicy that it drips down my face. I move it around on my tongue and savor the bright, and sweet, cucumber-fresh taste.
    After lunch, Amir hangs the painting while everyone crowds around my desk in admiration and comments on his talent. I’m miffed that every time I look at the beautiful piece it will remind me of how Mozey sees me. I know I’m hard to reach.
    But I tasted the damn fruit. It was delicious. It was well worth the pain it took to uncover it.

Chapter 6
    “A re you going home to shower or are we heading over straight after work?” Janey asks, peeking her head into my office.
    I look around my desk at the pile of work that could keep me here all weekend if I let it.
    “Let’s go right after work. Today I feel like I need it,” I say, running my fingers through my hair.
    “That-a-girl! Gunnar is done with evaluations, but I think he’s waiting around to run into you,” Janey says, whispering the last bit—which is a secret to no one. “I’m going to go freshen up in the ladies room.”
    Gunnar Anderson is a Deputy Director of one of the many privately run California juvenile rehabilitation programs. He’s here all the time and has a pretty big crush on me. Everyone at Pathways pressures me to go out with him. He’s from Minnesota, so they all think we’re kindred mid-western spirits and are meant for each other. Both states start with M, you really should marry him. Gunnar is nice, and I admire his conviction when it comes to the kids, but I’m just not attracted to him. I could date him for the things we have in common and his interest alone, but Gunnar is too nice and I really don’t want to do that to him.
    Just as I’m logging out of my email, he appears as if summoned with a big goofy grin and ruddy warm cheeks looking like a hot, young version of Santa Claus. He’s changed out of his uniform and is wearing all denim. I don’t have to take his pants off to know he’s packing; I can see the bulge through his jeans.
    “Hey, Gunnar. Just