Graham runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. Finally, with a determined scowl, he crosses the room. His hands grip my shoulders. “We are not,” his voice is a gentle tremor, “breaking up

The last time someone dried my hair for me was in sixth grade, when i broke my arm." "How did you break it?" "I fell out of a tree." "You fell out of a tree?" "I think there was a boy and a dare involved." "Ah.

What do you say when the feelings don't fit into words?

There are a million ways to lose someone you love.

Not. Your. Fault." I nodded again, holding onto his words like they were redemption.

Rather than raising his voice like everyone else, he leaned close to my ear and asked, "Dance with me?" I felt his warm breath and inhale the scent of his aftershave -something basic and male.

He laughed, and the sound reduced the pain of every sore place on my body to the dullest ache.