Leave a mark on that which has marked me.

Sandra offered me a position on the team that allowed me to work closely with some of the more “at risk” kids—the quiet and withdrawn ones who showed signs of physical or mental abuse. I teach an art and craft therapy class, a skill I’d learned from a three-day seminar that Say Something had paid for me to attend. It’s perfect for me, and the kids seem to love it. It’s amazing what you can learn from watching—through strokes of art, no words needed.

It was hard at first, trying to push aside my own history and not jump to conclusions every single time a kid walked in with a bruise or a broken bone, while at the same time, making sure I didn’t ignore those signs. I spent a couple therapy sessions with Dawn telling her all this, fingers aching from typing so fast, while she sat and read everything I had to say. Then she looked up at me, smiled, and said that everything I was feeling was normal. Good, even. Because emotional attachment and empathy were imperative if I wanted to make a change in the world. I wasn’t really planning on changing the world, and when I told her that, her smile widened. “But you can, Becca. The point is you can.” And with those simple words, I started looking at the world differently, started seeing things from all angles. My life no longer became about healing the pain of my past. Instead, it became about preventing the past from taking away my future. One kick at a time.

When Pete, the editor at Student Life, heard about what I’d been doing at Say Something through one of the conversations I was having with a journalist major on the team, he pulled me aside and asked if I would be interested in writing my own weekly column in the Human Interests section. Besides that one article I wrote on Josh (where I chose to leave out certain parts), I’d never written anything before. I mean, I wrote in my journal but that was about it. “But you have heart, Becca. And that’s something most people lack these days,” Pete said. So I agreed, and now my column gets the third most hits on the Student Life website, right under Sports and Entertainment.

I slip out of the stool and gather my coat and bag. “You’re leaving?” Pete shouts from the other side of the table.

I begin to pull out my phone, only to realize it’d be useless to have Cordy relay my message over the sound of drunken celebration. Instead, I nod, and once my coat is on I wave goodbye.

“You’re not driving, are you?”

I shake my head and mouth, “Cab.”

“I’ll share one.”

I narrow my eyes at him, knowing he lives on campus—across the road—and I don’t, so sharing a cab would be counterproductive. He laughs as he slips on his jacket. “Just entertain me, okay? You know the idea of you catching a cab alone at night gives me hives.” It’s true, it does, for absolutely no other reason than the fact that Pete was raised a gentleman. It’d be useless to decline his offer, so I wait until he’s said his goodbyes, and we exit the bar arm-in-arm. “Your dad home?” he asks, opening the door of the waiting cab for me.

I shake my head.

“Sigh.”

With a smile, I get in the back seat and watch him do the same. Once the door’s closed and he’s given the driver my address, he says, “Set the security alarm, and make sure to lock all the doors, okay?”

I pull out my phone, type out a message, and show it to him. I already have one dad. I don’t need another.

He rolls his eyes. “Smart ass.”

The moment I step foot in my house, I switch on the lights, lock all the doors, and set the alarm. Then I shoot off a text to my dad. A few months ago, he went back to working on the oil rigs—short contracts here and there to help cover the bills, but nothing that would keep him away from home for too long. I’ve offered to get a job, but he won’t allow it. At least not until he’s positive I’ll be okay on my own.

Becca: Finished exams. Had a couple drinks at a bar to celebrate. Met a tattooed junkie. It was love at first sight. Got married at the 24-hour chapel. Had unprotected sex. Caught syphilis. Good news: You’re going to be a grandpa!

Dad: That shit ain’t funny, Becca.

Becca: Who’s joking?

Dad: Well, I hope he has a job.

Becca: He’s a male stripper. But OMG, Dad, he’s soooooo dreamy.

Dad: Lock the damn doors and set the alarm. And STOP giving me anxiety.

Becca: Already done.

Dad: Congrats on killing the finals.

Becca: I don’t know if I killed them.

Dad: I know you did, and I’ve never been wrong.

Becca: I miss you.