It was all so clear now. Like everything had been lost in darkness, and then the sun came out. Some moments are like that.

The toes of our ratty black sneakers touched.

I really was alone, and the only thing worse than being alone was having everyone else see how lonely you were

I stared at the creased map on my wall, the thin green line connecting all the places I had read about. There they were, all the cities of my imaginary future, held together with tape and marker and pins. In six months, a lot had changed. There was no thin green line that could lead me to my future anymore. Just a girl.

A vegetarian? Are you insane? That's worse than bein' a quarter demon!

Sunday night, I reread The Catcher in the Rye until I felt tired enough to fall asleep. Only I never got tired enough. And I couldn't read, because reading didn't feel the same.

They shouldn't call death passing on. They should call it leveling up. Because the game only got harder once I lost. And I was more than a little worried it had only just begun.