I hated high school. I was not the greatest student, participated in no activities, and spent most of my time hanging out in my parking lot.

I'd been through so much, falling short again and again, and only recently had found a place where who I was, right now, was enough.

Never would forever, with all its meanings, be so clear and distinct as in the true, guaranteed end of the world.

I was so scared about being discovered, but nobody came. Nobody heard. In my own ears, though, my sobs sounded primal and scary, like something I would have turned off if I'd been able to.

I wasn't sure what I expected her to do or say to this. It was all new to me from that second on. But clearly, she'd been there before. It was obvious in the easy way she shrugged off her bag, letting it fall with a thump onto the sand, before sitting down beside me. She didn't pull me close for a big bonding hug or offer up some saccharine words of comfort, both of which would have sent me running for sure. Instead she gave me nothing but her company, realizing even before I did this that this, in fact, was just what I needed.

I think I'm too lazy a writer to do something like historical fiction. You have to do so much research. I just write what I know.

You, have this whole tall, dark stranger thing going on. Not to mention the tortured artist bit. And you, have that whole blonde cool and collected perfect smart thing going on. You're the boy all the girls want to rebel with. You, are the unattainable girl in homeroom who never gives a guy the time of day.