falling not flying one lost muddy shoe like the lost worlds between me and you

A little-known fact about me: I read all the time.

I'd never really thought past the whole dying-for-the-sake-of-the-world part of things. When you're alive, you don't dwell on how you're going to spend your time once you're dead. You just figure you're gone, and the rest will pretty much take care of itself.

If this was a movie, we would've sat down at the table with the guys and they would have learned some kind of valuable lesson, like not to judge people by how they look, or that being different is okay. And Lena would've learned that all jocks weren't stupid and shallow. It always seemed to work in movies, but this wasn't a movie. This was Gatlin, which severely limited what could happen.

Even in the slippery blur of heat and arms and noise, Lena affected everything in her wake, a pull as powerful as the moon to the tides, or the planets to the sun. I was caught in her orbit, even as she pulled away from mine.

I'd ridden to school with Link every day since kindergarten, when we became best friends after he gave me half his Twinkie on the bus. I only found out later it had fallen on the floor.

we love what we love and who we love who we love and why we love why we love and find a falling shoelace knotted and strung between the fingers of strangers