 When I got back home, I didn't end up going to Yeshiva. I didn't bring home any pen pal's money or happy romantic memories. But I did bring back a pair of black pants, covered in small white skulls. They were really baggy, and I had to wear them with 10-inch cuffs at the bottom. But when I showed up for my first day back at school, I thought I looked really punk rock. I thought, like anyone who'd never been held, that they were the pants of someone who got held all summer long.