Shan turns her head so sharply I get whiplash. “You want me to leave? I knew it”

I want to be home.

I don’t even want to go home, I just want to be home already, back under my covers, fuzzy socks on, and also, be far, far away from here.

Not that it’s such a scene: A few teenagers are laughing rowdily over a pie of pizza, a young couple shares some fries, and then there’s me and Shan. I guess 4:45 is too early for a dinner rush of juvenile delinquents. At least, that’s who I assume the hanhalah doesn’t want us mingling with; I actually have no clue who frequents the store.

But I don’t like breaking rules. Bending them, sure. Hopping over them from time to time, watching them sway back and forth behind me, of course. But actually breaking them is not my thing. Nope, not at all.

I feel nauseous.

Shan is on line, buying us pizzas and sodas.

“Shan,” I croak out, but she can’t hear me.

I lay my head on the table. I look socially off but I don’t care. I want to leave.

There’s a thump; Shan sits down across from me.

“Naomi? Girl, you okay?”

I look up. “Not really. But what’s up with you?”

Shan looks down at her slice. “I don’t know. Naomi, I hate it here. I hate being away from my family, from my home. It’s too much for me.”

Whoa, I was not expecting that. “You… want to go home? Like back to your, uh, mother?”

She looks away. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to be here anymore.”