Talk to me talk to me talk to me. It plays on a refrain in Caleb's ribs, beating a gentle tattoo in time with his heart. He huffs harder.

"Stop it!" he insists, leaning the third tire against his leg. "I'm not mad at you, I-I'm just mad, okay? I hate this stupid city, and I hate this stupid, wrong body, and I hate that you're so worried about me!"