The only thing she could do was tell the dumb cunt’s tale. Wherever Sasha went—including this trip upstate, even—her alienness was key to her belonging. This was what it had always meant to her, being gay. Her whole life, she’d known how to weld herself into a viable alternative to the popular thing. She wasn’t a nice girl, but she wasn’t a mean girl, either. Someone had once told Sasha that she wasn’t hot enough to be this crazy. But that itself was an unfair construction—you didn’t have to be hot to be crazy; you had to be hot to be mean.
