Something pure and real had happened to him when he’d read Walden at sixteen. He remembered it well, that selfish moment of self-discovery, of finding something that belonged only to him. Up to that point, everything in his life had been borrowed. His bedroom was borrowed from a dead boy, as were his parents. His best friend was inherited, seeing as how Brad’s dad and his dad were also the best of friends. The clothes on his back, the shoes on his feet, had been given to him. Whatever he was, whatever voice he
