“You’re so much better than you even know,” Hannah says one afternoon when they’re sitting in Baker’s car, talking through Baker’s latest argument with her mom. “You’re just—you’re so—I wish you could believe me—” “What’s funny,” Baker says, blinking down at their sun-spoiled sweet teas in the console, “is that, when I tell you these same things about yourself, I wish you could believe me, too.”
