“I always feel when I meet people that I am lower than all, and that they all take me for a buffoon; so I say let me play the buffoon, for you are, every one of you, stupider and lower than I.”
“Day leans in toward me. He reaches up to touch my face. I can tell it still hurts him to use his fingers, and his nails are dark with dried blood. “You’re brilliant,” he says. “But you’re a fool to stay wish someone like me.”
I close my eyes at the touch of his hand. “Then we’re both fools.”
“It isn’t my stomach. It’s my essay. It’s a good essay. I know it’s a good essay. She said it was awful and I was too pleased with myself. She said it was a lie. I called her a fool.”