I tell my family from now on I am Jinx. Grace doesn't know what it means, but my Mom is horrified. "You are not a jinx! None of this had anything to do with you. It's not your fault!" Maybe not. But I am an unlucky person to love. I tell my teachers I am Jinx. I will answer to no other name. They raiser their eyebrows, shrug. There are kids in my class with purle hair tattoos nose rings skirts hitched up to their butts. A name change is really quite mild. But the school counselor pursues me across the playground, floral skirt flying, earrings flapping, oozing empathy, "Talk to me. Talk to me!" As if.