I’m not my name. My name is something I wear, like a shirt. It gets worn. I outgrow it, I change it.

If you believe it, it happens. If you don’t, it doesn’t. When you believe him, you put your own power in his hands.

He still heard his mother’s voice–“Davey”–rise like whisper-dust from unseen corners in the house, but it was no longer the only voice he heard. His ears were also filled with the voices of others–his father...