"Come on," he whispers, somehow sounding charmed and annoyed at the same time. His hand smooths over her curls for a minute before drawing away. He's keeping his distance more than usual, as she's sure to notice, but that doesn't mean he'll let her get away with putting herself down. "There's no such thing, lady. That woman loves you with all she's got. You know why? 'Cause you're her little girl. Doesn't matter if you're a shit or not."

And then, because Kamala is Kamala, he makes sure to clarify: "You're not. A shit. At least, not anymore than any other teenager. Probably a lot less, even."