I’m Snake.” “His parents didn’t name him that,” says the girl with her eyes on her phone. “Your parents didn’t name you ‘Jessica,’” says Snake. There’s no rancor in his tone: this is a conversation they’ve had before. “No, they gave me a name white people can’t pronounce. I’m tired of hearing it butchered, so everyone gets to call me Jessica, and we all feel good about how progressive we are.” Jessica finally glances up. “You know what white people can pronounce? ‘Tom.’” “But I don’t look like a Tom,” protests Snake. “You have limbs. You don’t look like a Snake either.”
