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things, Merissa had been thinking about when she’d fallen on the stairs. Thoughts like angry hornets buzzing inside her head.
    So, falling and hurting herself so publicly and, for the rest of the day, feeling her head pound, touching the bump on her forehead and the little scratch that had ceased bleeding but felt like fine stitching in her skin, had been, unexpectedly— pleasurable .
    And the attention! Not for scoring high on a test, which makes everyone hate you, but for bleeding, being hurt , which makes people feel sorry for you and want to help you.
    And you can say, with a little stoic smile, Thanks, but I’m fine. I really am! It’s nothing.
    It was punishment for being an essentially worthless, ridiculous, and not even very good-looking person, but at the same time, it was a reward.
    â€œM’rissa? Hey—I heard you hurt yourself. . . .”
    â€œShaun, hi! No, it’s like—really nothing. . . . It didn’t even bleed much.”
    â€œWhat happened? Somebody said—you were pushed on the stairs?”
    â€œNo! I was not pushed! Who told you that?”
    Shaun shrugged. Just something he’d heard.
    â€œOf course no one pushed me. Why would anyone push me ?”
    â€œMaybe jealous of you? There’s lots of . . .”
    Shaun was joking, of course, but his voice trailed off as if he thought better of what he was saying.
    . . . lots of people who hate you.
    Shaun peered at Merissa’s bruised forehead. There was an anxious moment when Merissa thought—half thought—Shaun might lean forward and kiss it.
    If he had—(but Merissa knew he wouldn’t: She and Shaun didn’t have that sort of relationship)—she thought she might faint .
    â€œWow! Does it hurt?”
    â€œI told you, Shaun—no. It’s nothing compared to being battered out on the hockey field.”
    Later, Merissa would regret having spoken so assertively.
    Shaun had shrugged, laughed, and backed off. Merissa had wanted to call after him— Oh, Shaun, wait! It does hurt. I think I’m going to faint.
    But she went away in a state of near euphoria, thinking, Shaun does like me! He cares.
    This was a surprise—wasn’t it?
    Come off it, M’riss. Shaun is crazy about you too, except the poor guy is scared of you—the Perfect One.
    And at home there was Merissa’s mother, near hysterical at seeing such a “lurid” bump on her precious daughter’s forehead. And there was Merissa’s father, home for dinner that night, blinking and staring at her forehead before asking, in a faltering voice, what had happened. And when Merissa told him, insisting that it was really nothing and didn’t hurt—(which was more or less true: the little injury looked worse than it was)—Daddy cried, “Hey! Let Daddy kiss it and make it well.”
    Which Daddy did.
    Â 
    Daddy loves me. He does!
    That was proof.
    Â 
    Soon after, Merissa began the cutting.
    Why? Because she couldn’t fall down the school stairs every day and hurt herself.
    And she needed to be hurt . She needed to be punished .
    She needed to bleed . And she needed to cease bleeding—to heal .
    She needed a secret world . A world to hide in.
    She needed to seize control, to defy others’ control of her .
    She’d heard of girls who cut themselves in secret, as she’d heard of girls who starved themselves, or stuffed themselves and forced themselves to vomit; and there was the example of Tink Traumer, who spoke openly of her several suicide attempts —but with such an air of gaiety and drollery, you were led to conclude that of course she wasn’t serious!
    (So, when news came that Tink had at last k****d herself, that Tink was at last d**d, the first thought that came to her friends was, Oh Tink, come on! You’re not funny. )
    Merissa had heard of these girls and had always thought they must be mentally ill, or