For once in my life, I wished Mr. Bradshaw had slipped a tracker into my shoe or my coat pocket. I wished that he was still keeping tabs on me, even when I told him that I didn’t need him to, or that I could take care of myself.	Because the truth was that I knew I’d always need help along the way. I needed help now, and at some point in my life I’d need help again.
Embee, Tess Embers
help, loneliness