Between classes, I sat in my car and devoured French fries, licking the salt off my fingers. I pushed my hair around, peering intently into my rearview, thinking "I want to be one of those girls who's beautiful, always." I ran my car and ran the heater, tucking my hands deep into my sleeves and into my pockets. Warm until my eyes water. Warm until I crack the window. Warm and suffocating-
-and I go to class, late. Float in the monotony of my teacher's voice. Dreaming in colour of daylight and jump-rope, curled up in fragility and softness and sleep.
At the end of class, my teacher wakes me. Says, "Go home."
Stumbling around the parking lot, touching the air with my outstretched arms, shivering and half-delirious and unable to locate my car, though it sits alone, center.
