The thing is, you knew better and you knew the danger zones and how to navigate them, avoiding being alone at your locker, or in bathrooms, or hallways, or stairwells, and to sit in the middle of classrooms—never up front or way back—to linger nowhere, to keep eyes straight ahead, to maintain a neutral smile, to be monochrome and monotonous and gray or taupe, and never, ever attract the attention of the perfect girls, the good-hair girls, the lunch-table girls so why you volunteered, you don’t know, but you brought Hammy home for the summer, and after searching for five days, his little rock-hard hamster carcass turned up under the couch so you’ve killed the class pet—kill may not be the right word, but thank goodness you have a pile of Hammy pictures you photoshopped for the class blog with Hammy on a raft, waving from a cruise ship, skiing, and living his best life while your mother drives you to every pet store within an ever-widening radius searching for Hammy’s twin.