Chapters (95)
- Front Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Contents
- Video #1
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Video #2
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Video #3
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Eighty-One
- Eighty-Two
- Eighty-Three
- The Final Video
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Back Cover
The first time I saw her, we were workshopping our stories and poems. I turned in a science fiction story I was very proud of, something certain to make me the most famous fifteen-year-old writer in the United States. But Chloe calmly and clearly picked apart some of the science in the story, and my face flushed with embarrassment and disappointment. I decided to quit writing altogether.
After the meeting, Chloe texted, telling me that she really liked my story, and if I ever wanted to talk to her about the science, she’d be willing to help. I’m sorry to say I didn’t take her up on it, and it was a year and a half before we started dating. But I never forgot how smart she was. How confident. And also willing to help someone she barely knew.
I’m also not as good as the other guys on the soccer team. I was probably going to get cut junior year. No, not probably. I was. Rather than go through that torture, I tried other things. But my friends are all still playing.
Hector and Cameron are already at the table. And Cameron’s girlfriend Natasha. They all look up. They all texted me right after the accident. They all came by the house while I still felt pretty sick from the concussion and couldn’t really talk to anyone.
The sight of them lifts my spirits.
Hector smiles. “He’s back,” he says, chomping on a carrot stick. He always smiles, even with carrot pieces in his perfectly straight teeth. “The prodigal friend.”
“I guess you’re not dead,” Cameron says.
Natasha nudges him, gives him a warning look. But I don’t care. That’s how Cameron deals with things. A morbid joke. A dig. When he says I guess you’re not dead he means Good to see you.
“Not yet,” I say.
“Well, I’m happy to see you,” Natasha says. “These guys are animals. They don’t know how to express themselves in a thoughtful way. But I’m glad you’re back.”
Natasha likes the grand statement, the big gesture. She likes to pretend she’s more mature than the rest of us, and we let her. Her parents went through a nasty divorce when we were still in middle school. Bottom line: the whole town knew her dad left her mom for the twenty-one-year-old babysitter. Natasha acts like nothing bothers her, so maybe she can give me tips on dealing with public humiliation.
Chloe admired the way Natasha took what people in town dished out and just kept right on going. Chloe always wished she could worry less about what people thought of her.
It’s just good to be around friends who give a shit about me.