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"
You
go
,
"
I
’
d
say
.
"
No
,
you
go
,
"
Adam
would
say
.
The
politeness
was
painful
.
I
wanted
to
push
through
it
,
to
return
to
the
glow
of
the
night
of
the
concert
,
but
I
was
unsure
of
how
to
get
back
there
.
Adam
invited
me
to
see
his
band
play
.
This
was
even
worse
than
school
.
If
I
felt
like
a
fish
out
of
water
in
my
family
,
I
felt
like
a
fish
on
Mars
in
Adam
’
s
circle
.
He
was
always
surrounded
by
funky
,
lively
people
,
by
cute
girls
with
dyed
hair
and
piercings
,
by
aloof
guys
who
perked
up
when
Adam
rock
-
talked
with
them
.
I
couldn
’
t
do
the
groupie
thing
.
And
I
didn
’
t
know
how
to
rock
-
talk
at
all
.
It
was
a
language
I
should
’
ve
understood
,
being
both
a
musician
and
Dad
’
s
daughter
,
but
I
didn
’
t
.
It
was
like
how
Mandarin
speakers
can
sort
of
understand
Cantonese
but
not
really
,
even
though
non
-
Chinese
people
assume
all
Chinese
can
communicate
with
one
another
,
even
though
Mandarin
and
Cantonese
are
actually
different
.
I
dreaded
going
to
shows
with
Adam
.
It
wasn
’
t
that
I
was
jealous
.
Or
that
I
wasn
’
t
into
his
kind
of
music
.
I
loved
to
watch
him
play
.
When
he
was
onstage
,
it
was
like
the
guitar
was
a
fifth
limb
,
a
natural
extension
of
his
body
.
And
when
he
came
offstage
afterward
,
he
would
be
sweaty
but
it
was
such
a
clean
sweat
that
part
of
me
was
tempted
to
lick
the
side
of
his
face
,
like
it
was
a
lollipop
.
I
didn
’
t
,
though
.
Once
the
fans
would
descend
,
I
’
d
skitter
off
to
the
sidelines
.
Adam
would
try
to
draw
me
back
,
to
wrap
an
arm
around
my
waist
,
but
I
’
d
disentangle
myself
and
head
back
to
the
shadows
.
"
Don
’
t
you
like
me
anymore
?
"
Adam
chided
me
after
one
show
.
He
was
kidding
,
but
I
could
hear
the
hurt
behind
the
offhand
question
.
"
I
don
’
t
know
if
I
should
keep
coming
to
your
shows
,
"
I
said
.
"
Why
not
?
"
he
asked
.
This
time
he
didn
’
t
try
to
disguise
the
hurt
.
