I always imagined music trapped inside my clarinet, not trapped inside of me. But what if music is what escapes when a heart breaks?

The guy's life drunk, I think, makes Candide look like a sourpuss. Does he even know that death exists?

I can't shove the dark out of my way.

I could step out of this sad life like it's an old sorry dress.

... every available inch of his face busts into a smile - whoa. Has he blown into our school on a gust of wind from another world? The guy looks unabashedly jack-o'-lantern happy, which couldn't be more foreign to the sullen demeanor most of us strove to perfect.

If bad luck knows who you are, become someone else.

He murmers into my hair, "Forget what I said earlier, let's stick with this, I might not survive anything more." I laugh. Then he jumps up, finds my wrists, and pins them over my head. "Yeah, right. Totally joking, I want to do everything with you, whenever you're ready, I'm the one, promise?" He's above me, batting and grinning like a total hooplehead. "I promise," I say. "Good. Glad that's decided." He raises an eyebrow. "I'm going to deflower you, John Lennon.