“Who?” Melody asked.“Emmy. The girl from back home with the racist dad. She told me she was going to sneak away to see me, and I guess she actua...ly did.”“What are you complaining about?” Clark asked from his bedroom. “She’s hot!”I chuckled, “She thinks you’re good-looking, too, but unless you want to sign your own death warrant, that’s as bad an idea as ME being with her!”“Melody’s cool,” Clark said. “But if you aren’t going to hit that, give me a shot!”“Do you WANT to die?” I asked. “Think. Soon.”I’d been home for almost two weeks and the dark clouds of depression were weighing on me. Everything in my room seemed slightly foreign and juvenile to me, from the little twin bed to the art posters, to my desk and model airplanes I’d made as a child. The only thing that seemed right was my easel on which stood my latest painting.I’d worked slowly on the oil painting. It wasn’t dry yet, but I kept a cloth over it, held away so it didn’t touch the wet paint. I wasn’t ready for my parents. More

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