“They know me,” I say without thinking. “My parents and Sammie and Agatha and Lindsay. I garden, I wear floral prints and eat papas rellenas and like boys. I like boys—all the time, obsessively. That’s who I am; that’s who they know me to be. “So what happens when I can’t tend to my garden in the fall when I’m away at school? I’ll be studying botany, but I won’t be out there every Sunday morning, fertilizing and pruning and watering. What happens when I find a cute dress or skirt or top that doesn’t have a trace of flowers? Or what about if I find a new favorite food? My friends will be
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