It was far enough from my crazy mom and dad that I didn’t think about them much. The first year I kept to myself. I was younger than everyone, the classes weren’t as easy as I’d thought, and I focused on studying. I just wanted to blend in while I figured out what to do with my life. The doctor had been wrong—I wasn’t going to be six feet like my dad. By the time I was seventeen, I was six foot one with more to grow. I think I always thought of myself as short because my height felt funny on me. I didn’t really know what to do with it. I tried to disappear in crowds like I used to, but I couldn’t. Too tall, too skinny, and I think people were kind of scared of me because I was so quiet. Even though I was free, I felt oddly trapped. Like I was waiting. Waiting for someone to tell me my life had purpose. Waiting for someone to tell me what I should be doing. Waiting for answers to all the questions I’d had as a kid—answers that would never come. Then I met Cami. Cami was a year older than me.
