“A gorgeously kind, wonderfully gentle, and unfailingly compassionate depiction of OCD...bursting with light.” — Ashley Woodfolk, critically acclaimed author of NOTHING BURNS AS BRIGHT AS YOU Exploring the harsh reality of OCD and violent intrusive thoughts in stunning, lyrical writing, this novel-in-verse conjures a haunting yet hopeful portrait of a girl on the edge. From the author of Dear Medusa , which New York Times bestselling author Samira Ahmed called “a fierce and brightly burning feminist roar.” Ariel is afraid of her own mind. She already feels like she is too big, too queer, too rough to live up to her parents' exacting expectations, or to fit into what the world expects of a “good girl.” And as violent fantasies she can’t control take over every aspect of her life, she is convinced something much deeper is wrong with her. Ever since her older sister escaped to college, Ariel isn't sure if her careful rituals and practiced distance will be enough to keep those around her safe anymore. Then a summer job at a carnival brings new friends into Ariel’s fractured world , and she finds herself questioning her desire to keep everyone out—of her head and her heart. But if they knew what she was really thinking, they would run in the other direction—right? Instead, with help and support, Ariel discovers a future where she can be at home in her mind and body, and for the first time learns there’s a name for what she struggles with—Obsessive Compulsive Disorder—and that she’s not broken, and not alone. “ A poetic, visceral, deeply affecting story that will stay with me for years to come, not only because of its beauty and intensity but because it's the first time I've seen OCD represented so accurately in fiction.” —Allison Britz, author of Obsessed: A Memoir of My Life with OCD ★ "Vivid, emotionally charged verse renders terse, illuminating discussions of gender, race, religion, and sex that candidly contextualize OCD, and give teeth to this dazzling, layered story of self-acceptance and agency ." — Publishers Weekly , starred review ★ "A revelatory, razor-sharp , and powerfully honest depiction of the reality of living with OCD." — Kirkus Reviews , starred review ★ " A poignant, raw masterpiece ....there is a searing vulnerability in Cole’s verses that stays with the reader long after they have finished the book, making this a necessary and important read." — Booklist , starred review ★ "This deeply compassionate and sharp-edged dive into OCD is a must for all collections." — School Library Journal , starred review ★ " This moving, compassionate, and powerful work is vital reading for those struggling with mental health or those who love earnest novels-in-verse." — Shelf Awareness , starred review "Ariel’s first-person narration is gripping , likely to evoke a deep sympathy that will help readers." — The Bulletin "This powerful novel in verse provides an intimate look at the patterns of obsessive-compulsive disorder and offers an opportunity to explore the ways our inner voices affect our behavior and self-concept." — The Horn Book Olivia A. Cole is a writer from Louisville, Kentucky whose essays have been published by Bitch Media, Real Simple, the Los Angeles Times, HuffPost, Teen Vogue, Gay Mag, and more. Olivia is the author of several books for children and adults. I have to. Every time I leave the kitchen whether I’m going in or out of the house. It’s a rule written in blood. This morning, like every morning, I stare down at the collection of kitchen knives in the drawer by the stove. There are ten of them, one for each finger, short and long, serrated and not,         silver silver silver I know them all well.         This is the rule: in order to stop myself       from driving one of them into my father’s chest I must open the drawers—­the silent kind that don’t slam—­and tap each blade with one finger, six times for each knife: tap tap tap tap tap tap I have to concentrate. Each tap measured, firm. On the third knife, the fifth tap is too soft. I start over. Two more times until I get it right and all the scales growing inside me soften back into flesh and smooth wet organs. Only then can I go to the front door. Everyone is safe. For now. I’m going to try one more time. The bus stop is where I used to think my best thoughts—­ maybe because there, the world is as noisy as the inside of my head: clangor and clamor and squeaking brakes people nodding to music and each other, coming and going. I can wear headphones with no music and no one knows any different—­ if my head twitches or my neck bends they all think MUSIC. That girl is into her music. On the bus, I can make myself small all 5′11″ of me balled against the smudged window. I am part of the scenery—­we all are. I haven’t tried in one week because it already happened once and I wanted to give it time, maybe let it fade. Today it’s not rush hour. Today the rush is le