Hey, S.T.," Sydney says finally.
I don't budge.
She nudges me with her elbow. "You want to know something?"
I still can't look up. But I nod.
"It's not your fault either." She says this like it's not big deal. Like it's nothing.
But it's everything.

To cry was to release all sorts of ugly little pressures and tensions. Like waking out of a long, dark dream to a sun-filled day.

Whatever punishment does to a nation it does not induce a sense of guilt

My tears brought no sense of release or relief. Their flight felt like the lightest, coldest touch of a departing lover.

Then I place the blade next to the skine on my palm.
A tingle arced across my scalp. The flood tipped up at me and my body spiraled away. Then I was on the ceiling looking down, waiting to see what would happen next. What happened next was thet a perfect, straight line of blood bloomed from under the blade.The line grow into a long, Fat bubbel, A lush crimson bubbel that got bigger and bigger. I watch from above, waiting to see how big it would get before it burst. when it did, I felt awesome. Satisfied, finally. Then exhausted.

Rochelle," she calls out, still looking at me. "Is there anyone down at the desk? I need something."

I'm too startled to move. Is she going to tell on me, get me in trouble?

Rochelle's gotten up; she's banging the toilet stall doors open one by one, checking to make sure no one's in there. When the last stall turns up empty, she gives Amanda an annoyed look. "What do you need this time of night?"

Amanda smiles at me, then turns to face Rochelle. "A tampon