“Mal…” I say. Jesus. He’s still looking at me, waiting for an answer. “I have school. I’m going to college in a few weeks.” “We have colleges here.” “I’ve already enrolled. Paid. I have a dorm room. My best friend, Summer, is coming with me.” “I have some savings,” he insists. “I’m good at what I do. I can provide for us.” “You’re insane.” “I never claimed not to be.”
