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you. I’m serious .
    He responds: I know. When are you not? My mom is home, is that a problem?
    I want to scream. Shiloh’s mom is a nurse. If she sees me like this, she’ll flip. She’ll tell my parents. Everyone will know I’ve had a panic attack. That’s the last thing I need.
    Star Garden Park?
    Figured, he texts back. See you there when I get off work.
    It’s torture until then. My body seems to be ringing with the residual pain from my encounter. This is what I get for trying to act like a normal teenager.
    Again, I try to replace this pain with Ally’s feelings. She’s playing bass; I can tell that much. With my head in my hands, I try to shut out the pain in my wrist and my neck. I’ve never wanted to connect with someone before, but I really need Ally. For a fleeting moment, Ally’s aches and pains begin to layer over the other girl’s. I feel both of them. Then it’s gone, and I’m back in the other girl’s body.
    The presence of these fresh scars all over me dredges up memories like bile rising up in my throat. It was not so long ago when scars were a regular part of my life.
    I get a book off my shelf and try to lose myself in someone else’s world. It doesn’t work for long. I give my clay a try, at first mashing it into my palms, and then trying to make something with more detail. My legs shake as I use my thumbnail to carve out a face in my chunk of clay. But the shaking gets so bad that I mess it up and slash right through it.
    My parents are actually less worried about me today than usual. I went out last night, like a normal kid should. I’ve bought myself some time. This has been the nature of my relationship with any adult for as long as I can remember. If I stay inside for too long, they start thinking it’s abnormal, so I go out for one or two days and then they think I’m normal for another month.
    Ally is on the verge of freaking out. I can feel it like an electrical storm brewing in the next room. So I go see her before I meet Shiloh.
    “Hey.”
    “Hi.” She hides behind her bass. “Are you okay?”
    I shrug. “Let’s just say I’ve never felt that kind of feeling.”
    “The feeling of being high? Yeah, I know. You’re a loser. That’s why I’m worried. Are you sure you’re okay?”
    I shrug.
    She frowns. “Are you mad at me?”
    “Come on, you know I can’t get mad at you.”
    She smiles at me, and I do my best to return it.
     
    ***
     
    I set out toward Star Garden Park on Lombard Street, and the breeze goes right through me. I’ve reclaimed most of my body from the pain, but I’m still feeling weak and way too thin.
    I make a detour to South Street and buy some food. Sitting against the fence of the park, I’m sure people think I’m a homeless person who’s hit the jackpot in tips. Shiloh texts that he’s on his way, and I watch the street for him. I start to fold in on myself. There are a couple families running around on the green, and their emotions reach out to me, but I shut them down. The girl is more than enough for me.
    This park is about as far as I’m willing to go outside of my home. There are usually families on one side and occasional Frisbee players on the other. It’s enough space for me to feel separate, and it puts a barrier between the street and me. Otherwise, I’ll just absorb the public like a sponge.
    Once Shiloh arrives inside the park, we claim a bench, dividing up the food between us. I’m ravenous because I feel like I weigh one hundred pounds and wind up eating more than half of the stuff.
    “What’s up with you?” Shiloh asks. “Usually I’m the one finishing your food.”
    I take a deep breath. “You’ve been hung over, right?”
    His eyes widen. “Jesus Christ, James.”
    I rub my forehead. “I have to start over.”
    “I didn’t see you at the party last night. You need me there if you’re going to pull that shit.”
    I stop him with a glare. “Calm down. Ally brought me there, but I didn’t stay