Chapter 32

“And you’re a dumbass,” Caitlin replies. The kids stagger back, out of the vending area—they look younger in the sunlight, maybe no more than ten, eleven years old. “Fucking homophobic assholes,” she calls them, “all of you. You better run.”

When she starts after them, I grab her shirt. “Caitlin, no,” I tell her. She struggles for a moment, but the boys race off into the men’s restroom where she can’t follow. “It’s fine, Cat. I get it a lot. You get used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to put up with that shit,” she says. Taking her snacks from me, she hits one of the buttons on the soda machine with a small, angry fist. “No one picks on my brothers,” she mutters as a can tumbles out. “No one but me.” 10: In the Car