couldnât stop crying and saying how proud she was of me. She even told me I had a gift. Maybe sheâs right. One of the cops took pictures of my wall art. I have copies of those too. As well as photos of the Leaning Tower of Doom. I lay all the evidence out on my bed and look at it every day. I read the essays and let my feelings surge through me. Like an electric current. Iâm furious at Jason, but Iâm also furious at myself for ever dating him. Iâm too lazy to make my bed, but I sleep so much it doesnât matter. Iâm greedy for open spaces and the sound of laughter. Iâm envious of my happy friends, who only want to talk about clothes and boys. Iâm hungry for junk food, even though Iâm starting to get zits. Iâm not quite ready to have sex with Eric. But mostly, Iâm really proud of myself. Proud that I used everything that was in me to escape. My brain. My muscles. My rage. My greed. Iâm proud that I survived. And thatâs no sin.