We both lean back on the windshield. I look at the sky. I think about my dad and feel my throat spasm. I think of myself in my earliest YouTube videos. A weird little girl with a chubby face, saying, “I have a dad, he just doesn’t like me.” I think of myself at seventeen, undoing a belt I once considered killing myself with, while clinging to a boy I didn’t like. I think of myself happy being cruel to people I felt rejected by. I realize as I look up at the green lights in the sky that I wasn’t traumatized by the fire. I was traumatized by my dad believing the first horrible thing he ever
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