All I knew was I had that tight feeling in my chest, like I wanted to kick over someone’s sandcastle. As a kid, I’d had that feeling a lot. I’d be on set and want to go berserk and stomp the plastic stable with the plastic pony into plastic bits, but I never acted on it until I got older, not until I was Katie McGee and weaving down the 405 in the backseat of someone’s Range Rover at 110 miles per hour, not doing anything more than laughing and shrieking but still feeling like I was pulverizing something.
