bleach. Bright white spots already going threadbare. Because of me. I pulled my hand away and said, “I’m too dirty to touch.” He jumped like a bee had stung him and leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees. “No, sweetheart. I told you. You’re not. You’re beautiful. I love you, but you’re only thirteen. So we can’t be fooling around.” He didn’t look at me when he said, “You’re beautiful,” so he might as well have said, “You’re invisible.”
