My girlfriends keep calling, seemingly in some sort of order, as if they can sense each other: first Bebe, then Lisa, then Red, Rebecca, Nicole, and, finally, Henrietta. I don't answer the phone with any for any of them. I don't want to use the phone after the conversation with the angry, drunk man I just had. Katelin is at home probably getting beaten senseless, and my girlfriends are up into the early morning hours, desperate for my attention. I am just sick of everything.

No matter how I try, my mind won't let me go to sleep. Each time that I drift off, I dream of screaming and fists and crying and I wake up with beads of sweat popping out from my skin. By the time that morning dawns, I have had so many visions of bruises and cuts and angry eyes and shot glasses that I know I have to do something before I go completely out of my mind.

Day drifts by. Girlfriends try to cuddle in the hallways. The guys talk about the new video game everyone's playing, where the main objective is to sell as many drugs and pull off as many heists as possible. I don't have it, since I'm too poor, so I mainly listen.

The day doesn't really start for me until school ends.

Katelin looks very small and sad at the tutoring table, reading a huge book that must be half the size of her torso.

"Hey," I say, and she looks up at me in surprise, as if she wasn't expecting that I wouldn't be here, "what are you reading?"

She flips up the book so that I can see the cover. "Just an encyclopedia. Trying to expand my knowledge, you know."

"Oh." Not much I can relate to on that front. "So, how are you doing?"

"Okay." Her hair is back down again, I notice, but she's not trying to hide her eye anymore; it's looking much, much better.

"I hope that I didn't make things worse when I called."

For a second, she smiles thinly, but then, suddenly, the smile fades and a crease appears between her eyebrows. "Actually, you did. What the fuck were you thinking, calling my house at midnight? Did you think it would be me that answered? Well, it wasn't: I can tell you that much. You think that these bruises just generate overnight? I'll bet that if you studied most of them closely enough, you would see an imprint of my father's wedding ring."

I don't think I've ever been talked like this by a girl. I'm not really sure what to say next.

She keeps going, talking incredibly quickly as if she can't get the words out fast enough. "And saying you couldn't sleep! Because of me? What sort of idiot are you, saying that to any family member of mine? Don't you have any sense at all? I would have thought by now that you would have put together some sort of idea of what I'm going through, but apparently you're so wrapped up in your world of alcohol and sex that you can't see anything beyond your own problems. And spending the whole fucking day just fucking with Henrietta and boozing yourself out of your godamn mind? For the love of Christ, Kenny, you are one of the smartest people I know, and you're just throwing all your brains out the window in favor of some shit that will make you happy for maybe the next year or so, and then will absolutely destroy any chance you have of success in life." She pauses to take a breath. "You know something? I've never had anything in my life that would give me any reason to have hope, there's been no motivation to keep trying, but I've still done it. For my whole life, my father has beaten me, my mother has been a wet dishrag who can't do anything to help her own children, my brother has been suicidal and depressed and addicted to drugs, and I've had to do everything I can to protect my little sister from ever going through what I have. I am a mother, and a sister, and the provider of food, and pretty much the only person who earns any money in my family. But I keep going, Kenny, and I keep trying, and so should you."

She's right. I don't even have to think about it. "Do you want to go build a snowman?"

It takes a moment for her to shift out of her angry, venting phase, and, when she does, she looks so confused it's almost comical. "What?"

"A snowman." I repeat. "It's something I always used to do with close friends. I think I have some explaining to do, and I don't really want to do it in a classroom with a bunch of people."
She regards me sharply for a moment, then gets up. "Sure. Let's build a snowman. But we're going to talk about metaphors while we're doing it. I'm still your tutor."

It's probably the shittiest snowman ever built. There's a ton of snow on the ground, but none of it is the sticky stuff ideal for snowball fights and making snow people, so the snowman, who Katelin named Fred, is perpetually tilting over to one side and starting to fall in half. Grabbing a stick, Katelin stabbed it into the snowman's head. "Okay, now he has a nose." She grimaced, staring at the shapeless lump. "Wow, this thing really sucks. Looks sort of like Cartman, if you take off the fact that it's made of snow and has a stick jammed in its face."

And it does. I would laugh, but there's too much I want to say. "Katelin, about last night—"

"Kenny, really, it's okay. I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier."

"No, I deserved it. I was being a total idiot. But I just feel like I should explain myself, so I can make up in some way for what happened. Just let me do that, okay? And then we can talk about metaphors until we're blue in the face." It sounds so great when I say it. I just wish I knew how I was going to explain everything without sounding like a douchebag.

"Okay, sure." She shrugs. "But be prepared for major novel analysis afterwards, okay. And maybe some snowman plastic surgery."

"Well…uh…I guess that ever since Cartman pushed you down a few days ago…" I pause, realizing what a short time has passed since then, then continue. "…I knew what was happening to you, but I didn't want to think about what it might mean for you. It's a long story that I'd rather not go into right now, but I've know a lot of death and hurt in my life, and I try to avoid it when I can. It's really immature, but that's just how I get through life."

I wait for a second, hoping that she won't ask any awkward, probing questions. She doesn't. "I was being stupid and ignorant when I came to you after being drunk like that, particularly since I had a pretty good idea that was what scared you about—your dad. I couldn't sleep last night for how much I was thinking about you, and I felt like I had to tell you that I was sorry so that I could sleep even a little. I was trying to make myself feel better, but I only made stuff worse for you. I'm really sorry, Katelin."

She's smiling a little at me, but I can't decide if it's a false smiles or a real one. The next question is out of my mouth before I can stop it. "Did he hurt you a lot?"

She clearly wasn't expecting this question. "Well, kind of. He didn't…uh…touch my face, but he hit pretty much everywhere else." There's a really awkward silence, then: "Sorry, dude, I don't think I've ever actually talked about this with anybody."

"No, no, that was a stupid question." I try to transition quickly, but I never was very good at that. "I was thinking: if it's really that bad, maybe you should…you know…go to some sort of shelter. I remember my mom talking about her friend going there at one point."

"Your mom?"

"Yeah, apparently alcoholics tend to mingle with other alcoholics. Anyway, she told me that it was some place about twenty miles outside of town, totally secluded so that the people there are protected. You might want to check it out or something. I think they take families and stuff."

And then she really is smiling. "Kenny, that's the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me."

In a flash, I'm as sheepish as a kid with a crush. "Nah, I just—"

"No, Kenny, really. I'm being serious."

"It was nothing." I feel like I'll turn red if she keeps smiling at me like that. God, what is this? In my life, I've had approximately twenty-seven girlfriends, not counting the six I have now, and have hooked up with more girls than I really care to count or admit to. Why am I being such an idiot? "You said you had a two siblings, right? Little sister, big brother?"

"Yeah." Fred's head seems to have fallen off, and she scoops it up in her bare hands and plops it back on his bulbous body. "Big brother is Forrest, after Forrest Gump, which may explain some of his maniacal-depressive symptoms. Smokes a lot of weed, sleeps around a lot, changes his hairstyle too much. Was accepted to a few different colleges, but couldn't afford to go; now lives at home. Dad doesn't beat him, but does insult him a lot." She digs her hands into her armpits to warm them. "Little sister is Cayenne."

I don't think I've heard her right for a moment. "Cayenne? Like the pepper?"

"The one and only. Mom craved it a lot during pregnancy. I was the only one who was named something normal. She's the light of my life. She loves it when I bring home peanut butter and jelly, but loves me regardless of what I do. If I didn't have Cayenne, my life would suck a lot worse. My dad doesn't beat her either. I take all the blows for her, and I wouldn't have that any other way."

I suppose that's admirable. "I have a little sister, too: Karen. I would do the same thing for her." I clear my throat. "I would also take her to a shelter where she could be safe."

Katelin seemed charmed by the idea of the shelter when I had suggested it for her, but once Cayenne has enter the picture, her face immediately grows stony and serious. "Yeah, you're right. I'll check it out tonight."

"Okay, good." I'm suddenly starving. "Hey, do you want to go for a burger at Shakey's?"

"Don't you have a date with one of your girls?"

I realize that, for the first time in a long time, I don't. I didn't answer the phone when any of them called, I didn't make any dates with them today when they tried to talk to me. I have been a pretty awful boyfriend today. And I am about to be worse. "Nope. No dates, weirdly enough. But I have some money, which is pretty rare, and I would like for you to help me spend all of it. Shakey?"

"I've actually never been to Shakey. Is it any good?"

"That depends on your taste buds. Are you an all-American, Kraft cheese sort of foodie?"

"I'm not really a discriminating eater." She says. "I eat everything."

"Are you worried about getting fat?"

"Me?" She laughs. "I hardly ever get enough to eat. I can probably stand having a couple burgers on me. I might even get some curves or something."

"Then you, darling, will be right at home in Shakey." I offer her my arm and we stroll over to my moped.

"You had better not let me die on this stupid thing," she warns me. "I said it before: riding this thing is asking for death, and I do not currently have a death wish."

"I'll do my best," I promise. "Just hold on tight, okay?"

"You know what I just realized?" She says as she climbs on behind me. "We didn't spend a single moment talking about A Tale of Two Cities. All we did is build Fred and basically spill our life's secrets to each other. That was pretty fun, though."

She has her arms wrapped around my waist. I get sort of shivery, much to my exasperation. How can this girl do these things to me?

We don't end up talking about A Tale of Two Cities, but I do have the best date I've had in ages. I order my usual shit and Katelin, in an attempt to order enough food to feed her two siblings, gets three medium fries, two double burgers, one medium chocolate shake, and, for her brother, who she said is always hungry, she gets Shakey's biggest menu item, the Big Shake, a two pound burger with a quarter pound of cheese.

It's a lot of money, and she apologizes for that, but I enjoy the time so much that the cost doesn't actually seem to matter all that much. I don't think that there's a single conversation topic we don't cover. We talk about the most interesting people we've met (both of ours is Cartman); the place in the world we'd most like to go (hers is Japan and mine is Italy); our favorite ice cream flavor (hers is cookie dough and mine is straight chocolate); our favorite historical people (hers is Anne Frank and mine is John Kennedy); and our favorite type of music (she likes alternative stuff and I like metal). Behind the counter, the same owner who kicked me out of the alleyway two days ago looks at me like I have multiple personality disorder or something, but I hardly pay her any attention.

It is seven o'clock all too soon and Katelin is telling me that she needs to get home before her curfew so that she can feed her siblings and make sure her father doesn't think that she's doing anything bad. Her house is close enough to Shakey so that she feels fine walking, she says, but I think it's more that she fears what will happen if her father sees a boy on a motorcycle of sorts dropping her off.

We stand outside Shakey awkwardly after a shallow exchange, mainly consisting of:

"Thank you."

"No, thank you."

"No, thank you."

She hugs me, and, by God, I realize that, despite what she might try to hide under her baggy clothes, she actually does have a body and it feels very, very good to have it against mine. I realize she's very, very small and fragile and I suddenly want to keep my arms around her forever and shield her from the world and everything that wants to hurt her.

She lets go. "Today was one of the best days of my life, Kenny." And walks away.

I watch her go and wonder if this is what loving someone feels like.