It wasn't about how she looked, which was pretty, even though she was always wearing the wrong clothes and those beat-up sneakers. It wasn't about what she said in class--usually something no one else would've thought of, and if they had, something they wouldn't have dared to say. It wasn't that she was different from all the other girls at Jackson. That was obvious. It was that she made me realize how much I was just like the rest of them, even if I wanted to pretend I wasn't.

Sixteen moons, Sixteen years Sixteen of your deepest fears Sixteen times you dreamed my tears Falling, Falling through the years

It almost felt like she was sucking it all out of me, like she sucked on that sticky red lollipop, the one she kept licking as she drove.

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.

When you look up. Do you see the blue sky of what might be? Or the darkness of what will never be? Do you see me?

My mom was there, in some form, in some sense, in some universe. My mom was still my mom, even if she only lived in books and door locks and the smell of fried tomatoes and old paper. She lived.

I saw his face change. His eyes widen. He lunged at me. I wouldn't let go. We stared into eachother's eyes and clawed at eachother's throats. As we rolled over the edge of the water tower and fell the whole way down, I was only thinking one thing ...Lena