like the forest fight for sunlight that takes root in every tree

"I'm sure you'll fit in just fine," he'd said, in that awkwardly appraising sort of way where your head bobbles and your eyes scrunch in with your cheeks as if you need to make it any more obvious that you're not really being sincere just because you can't be, what do you even know?

He's sure. Sure he's sure. But he's not confident.

Why?

She wasn't gonna wait to eliminate that shakiness. Interference.

So she'd nodded once, tightened her earpiece, and thought, but only thought: What if I don't want to fit in? What if I want to stand out?