Nobody on this bus knows that the music I’m listening to is totally cool, actually. It’s definitely not bubblegum pop about female empowerment marketed to someone half my age. Maybe it’s my shy nature, but I always quintuple-check that my headphones are plugged in, because my swag is totally shot if they knew, and I need to be the most mysterious girl riding MARTA today. Nobody knows I just drained my savings account to help my parents pay their mortgage, newly able to be made or broken if I decide to stop for a coffee. Maybe it’s my pride, but I want them to know. I eat leftovers and search for textbook PDFs because I am still the richest girl in the world knowing this money, now gone, earned with my typing fingers, keeps Mom and Dad warm at night. Nobody on this train knows how badly I miss my cat, even though I left the house 30 short minutes ago. I’d show a picture if asked, but it’s almost like they know me, because knowing me, you’d know that if you asked, I’d go on about the allergy shot she just got, the new brand of cat litter she’s trying, the crook of my knees where she sleeps, the white spot on her chest. They don’t ask me, but we all know how good it feels to be known. Nobody knows I slept in this teeshirt last night, and that one I’m actually glad about. We all have our secrets, that much I do know.