Hannah was about ready to burst with excitement, which would have been disgusting because she would have sprayed blood, guts, and glitter in every direction. She was an innocent, a freshman, one of the sad believers who thought high school was where they would be popular and smart and happy - above all happy.
Why bother trying? What's the point? So I could go to some suck-ass college, get a diploma, march out into a job I hated, marry a pretty girl who would want to divorce me, but then she wouldn't because we'd have kids, so instead she'd become the angry woman on the other end of the kitchen table, and the kids would grow up watching this, until one day I'd look at my son and he'd look just like the face in the bathroom mirror?
