I slam the phone down. “Antisocial?” Okay: it hurts because it’s true. Still, fuck him.

I think I’m pissed ‘cause I’m pretty.

Yeah, I know. Something else for the shrink. Who would’ve thought Mom finally getting a comprehensive health plan would suck? It’s like she feels she’s not using her benefits if she’s not sending me and my brother to some doctor every week.

“Jen,” Mom yells from downstairs, “Have you tried calling Andrew?”

“Yes!” I shout back. “Stop bugging me already!”

I’m not really annoyed at her. Or even at Drew. It’s…

I’m not a girly girl, you know? Okay, I’ll wear lipstick and nail polish. If it’s black. But skirts and dresses and heels is all, you know, patriarchy and stuff from the Middle Ages. Give me a pair of pants and some shitkicker boots and I’m locked and loaded.

But this dress… I look hot in it. Maybe that should be “hott.” Ugh. See what it’s doing to me? It’s got, like, crinoline and lace and all this shit.

I look good, and it’s killing me inside.