“There should be a law against this,” I said at first, sitting on my mom’s couch, hunched, scrolling. She stood over my shoulder, hands shoved into the pouch of her giant hoodie, and squinted at the screen. “Absolutely,” she said, then something about teen depression, on the rise since Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat started promoting impossible ideals. “Texas State has a good law program,” she said and wandered into the kitchen. I heard cabinets open, close. She wanted me to do a year at Houston Community College, then transfer. “Maybe you’ll grow up and write that law.” Maybe. But the longer I
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