You meet a boy named for a river. You meet a boy who ignores you at soccer practice and messages you online after school. You meet boys who squeeze their own nipples, telling each other milk will come out. You meet boys you want to touch you, that you want to stare at for hours. You memorize their names, but speak to none. You meet a boy who touches you in a hall of mirrors, your reflections jagged and unfathomable. You meet a boy who touches you with his foot in a public pool. You meet a boy with blue eyes who can barely look at you when you touch him. You meet a boy with glasses, a boy with acne, a boy with scars on his arms, a boy you know is stupid. You are always on the verge of crying. At soccer, boys kick you, slap you, bruise you. Do it again, you pray. You tell lies about them to your friends, to yourself. You meet a boy named for a gun. He sits next to you at the back of the bus. You sit up so straight, his thigh against yours a razor burn. You study its heavy meat. You listen to music, connected by earbuds, wire dangling thin between your heads. He says nothing. He is seventeen and you are fourteen. You barely breathe in the seat. You make yourself empty, your face a darkened screen.