Goldy Moldavsky

I search Vitaly for the answers to my unasked questions, but all he does is glow with promise. Big and bright as a lighthouse.

I’m drowning

She’s always “on” in front of others, her subservient smile like a spotlight she shines in your eyes so you can’t see who she really is

I didn’t, like, consent to do a crime—this isn’t my fault.”

“I know,” Mr. Yang says.

But for as calm and sympathetic as he’s being, it only makes the panic in me burn brighter. “You’re not going to report me, are you?” I’m an idiot for talking so openly about all this stuff. “You’re not obligated to call the authorities, right?”