Ganvi rose to her doughy knees and snatched a biscuit off Creel's plate. Creel peered down over the frame-less lenses of her glasses. "My little criminal, you know I can only eat cookies in odd numbers." Fifteen-year-old Yvette lives in the entanglement of Scandinavian suckers, maple furniture, and honey souls. Education is something that never ended in her household. In her waking moments, she'd learned that Autism is not an insult, parrots don't feed themselves and, her Pakistani neighbor keeps his arsenal in his tongue. Family is everything. Yet, seated at the newborn kitchen table with her index tracing the lip of her devilish teacup, she feels something. Dark and ugly, squirming in her gut. It takes Yvette awhile to realize what it is. Not tapeworms, not guilt. She'd lost genuine emotional capacity long ago. It's something far more sinister, growing into the muscles of her face. It's boredom. Warning. Suicide, profanity. Prioritize your health before your curiousity.