I am a regrettable 14. I am worried about my frizzy hair and my overgrown brows and my elf ears and my tiny baby toenails. I am not an elegant person. I tuck mints into my backpack before school, hoping that another girl will notice that her breath smells right before talking to her crush and she’ll lean over and ask if I have a mint and I’ll say yes I do while handing her a mint and she’ll say you’re a lifesaver and we will become best friends. Teenage worries cover the complexity of my story. I can’t put the pieces together here or now, so I go through each day as it comes and file the evidence away for future use.