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Acknowledgments

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ABOUTTHEAUTHOR

JenniferNivenistheauthoroftheNewYorkTimesandinternationalbestsellerAlltheBrightPlaces.Shehasalsowrittenfournovelsforadults,aswellasthreenonfictionbooks,andthescreenplayforthemovieversionofAlltheBrightPlaces.Additionally,sheisthefounderofGermMagazine,anonlineliteraryandlifestylemagazineforreadershighschoolageandbeyond.ShegrewupinIndianaandnowlivesinLosAngeles.Formoreinformation,visitJenniferNiven.comorGermMagazine.com,or

findheracrossthesocialmediauniverseonFacebook,Twitter,Instagram,Tumblr,Pinterest,orSnapchat,happilyinteractingwithreaders.

forKerry,Louis,Angelo&Ed,

whohelpholdupmyuniverse

andforallmyreaderseverywhere,whoaretheworldtome

“Atticus,hewasrealnice.…”“Mostpeopleare,Scout,whenyoufinallyseethem.”

—ToKillaMockingbird,HarperLee

I’mnotashittyperson,butI’mabouttodoashittything.Andyouwillhateme,andsomeotherpeoplewillhateme,butI’mgoingtodoitanywaytoprotectyouandalsomyself.Thiswillsoundlikeanexcuse,butIhavesomethingcalledprosopagnosia,which

meansIcan’trecognizefaces,noteventhefacesofthepeopleIlove.Notevenmymom.Notevenmyself.Imaginewalkingintoaroomfullofstrangers,peoplewhodon’tmeananythingto

youbecauseyoudon’tknowtheirnamesorhistories.Thenimaginegoingtoschoolorworkor,worse,yourownhome,whereyoushouldknoweveryone,onlythepeopletherelooklikestrangerstoo.That’swhatit’slikeforme:IwalkintoaroomandIdon’tknowanyone.That’severy

room,everywhere.Igetbyonhowapersonwalks.Bygestures.Byvoice.Byhair.Ilearnpeoplebyidentifiers.Itellmyself,Dustyhasearsthatstickoutandared-brownAfro,andthenImemorizethisfactsoithelpsmefindmylittlebrother,butIcan’tactuallycallupanimageofhimandhisbigearsandhisAfrounlesshe’sinfrontofme.Rememberingpeopleislikethissuperpowereveryoneseemstohavebutme.HaveIbeenofficiallydiagnosed?No.AndnotjustbecauseI’mguessingthisis

beyondthepaygradeofDr.Blume,townpediatrician.Notjustbecauseforthepastfewyearsmyparentshavehadmorethantheirshareofshittodealwith.Notjustbecauseit’sbetternottobethefreak.Butbecausethere’sapartofmethathopesitisn’ttrue.Thatmaybeitwillclearupandgoawayonitsown.Fornow,thisishowIgetby:Nod/smileateveryone.Becharming.Be“on.”Begoddamnhilarious.Bethelifeoftheparty,butdon’tdrink.Don’trisklosingcontrol(thathappens

enoughwhensober).Payattention.Dowhateverittakes.Belordofthedouche.Anythingtokeepfrombeingtheprey.

Alwaysbettertohuntthanbehunted.I’mnottellingyouallthisasanexcuseforwhatI’mabouttodo.Butmaybeyoucan

keepitinmind.Thisistheonlywaytostopmyfriendsfromdoingsomethingworse,andit’stheonlywaytostopthisstupidgame.JustknowthatIdon’twanttohurtanyone.That’snotwhy.Eventhoughthat’sthethingthat’sgoingtohappen.

Sincerelyyours,Jack

PS.You’retheonlypersonwhoknowswhat’swrongwithme.

Prosopagnosia(pro-suh-pag-NO-zhuh)noun:1.aninabilitytorecognizethefacesoffamiliarpeople,typicallyasaresultofdamagetothebrain.2.wheneveryoneisastranger.

18HOURSEARLIER

Ifageniepoppedoutofmybedsidelamp,Iwouldwishforthesethreethings:mymomtobealive,nothingbadorsadtoeverhappenagain,andtobeamemberoftheMartinVanBurenHighSchoolDamsels,thebestdrillteaminthetristatearea.ButwhatiftheDamselsdon’twantyou?Itis3:38a.m.,andthetimeofnightwhenmymindstartsrunningaroundall

wildandoutofcontrol,likemycat,George,whenhewasakitten.Allofasudden,theregoesmybrain,climbingthecurtains.Thereitis,swingingfromthebookshelf.Thereitis,withitspawinthefishtankanditsheadunderwater.Ilieonmybed,staringupintothedark,andmymindbouncesacrossthe

room.Whatifyougettrappedagain?Whatiftheyhavetoknockdownthecafeteria

doororthebathroomwalltogetyouout?Whatifyourdadgetsmarriedandthenhediesandyou’releftwiththenewwifeandstepsiblings?Whatifyoudie?Whatifthereisnoheavenandyouneverseeyourmomagain?Itellmyselftosleep.Iclosemyeyesandlieverystill.Verystill.Forminutes.Imakemymindlietherewithmeandtellit,Sleep,sleep,sleep.Whatifyougettoschoolandrealizethatthingsaredifferentandkidsare

different,andnomatterhowmuchyoutry,youwillneverbeabletocatchuptothem?Iopenmyeyes.

MynameisLibbyStrout.You’veprobablyheardofme.You’veprobablywatchedthevideoofmebeingrescuedfrommyownhouse.Atlastcount,6,345,981peoplehavewatchedit,sothere’sagoodchanceyou’reoneofthem.Threeyearsago,IwasAmerica’sFattestTeen.Iweighed653poundsatmyheaviest,whichmeansIwasapproximately500poundsoverweight.Ihaven’talwaysbeenfat.TheshortversionofthestoryisthatmymomdiedandIgotfat,butsomehowI’mstillhere.Thisisinnowaymyfather ’sfault.TwomonthsafterIwasrescued,wemovedtoadifferentneighborhoodon

theothersideoftown.ThesedaysIcanleavethehouseonmyown.I’velost302pounds.Thesizeoftwoentirepeople.Ihavearound190lefttogo,andI’mfinewiththat.IlikewhoIam.Foronething,Icanrunnow.Andrideinthecar.Andbuyclothesatthemallinsteadofspecial-orderingthem.AndIcantwirl.Asidefromnolongerbeingafraidoforganfailure,thatmaybethebestthingaboutnowversusthen.Tomorrowismyfirstdayofschoolsincefifthgrade.Mynewtitlewillbe

highschooljunior,which,let’sfaceit,soundsalotbetterthanAmerica’sFattestTeen.Butit’shardtobeanythingbutTERRIFIEDOUTOFMYSKULL.Iwaitforthepanicattacktocome.

CarolineLushampcallsbeforemyalarmgoesoff,butIlethergotovoicemail.Iknowwhateveritis,it’snotgoingtobegoodanditwillbemyfault.Shecallsthreetimesbutonlyleavesonemessage.Ialmostdeleteitwithout

listening,butwhatifhercarbrokedownandshe’sintrouble?Thisis,afterall,thegirlI’vedatedoffandonforthepastfouryears.(We’rethatcouple.Thaton-again,off-againeveryone-assumes-we’ll-end-up-together-forevercouple.)Jack,it’sme.Iknowwe’retakingabreakorwhateverbutshe’smycousin.

MyCOUSIN.Imean,MYCOUSIN,JACK!Ifyouwantedtogetbackatmeforbreakingupwithyou,thencongratulations,jerkwad,you’vedoneit.IfyouseemeinclasstodayorinthehallwaysorinthecafeteriaorANYWHEREELSEONEARTH,donottalktome.Actually,justdomeafavorandgotohell.Threeminuteslater,thecousincalls,andatfirstIthinkshe’scrying,butthen

youcanhearCarolineinthebackground,andthecousinstartsyellingandCarolinestartsyelling.Ideletethemessage.Twominuteslater,DaveKaminskisendsatexttowarnmethatReedYoung

wantstokickmyfaceinformakingoutwithhisgirlfriend.Itext,Ioweyou.AndImeanit.IfI’mkeepingscore,Kam’shelpedmeoutmoretimesthanI’vehelpedhim.Allthisfussoveragirlwho,ifwe’rebeinghonest,lookedsomuchlike

CarolineLushampthat—atleastatfirst—Ithoughtitwasher,whichmeansinsomeweirdwayCarolineshouldbeflattered.It’slikeadmittingtotheworldthatIwanttogetbacktogetherwithhereventhoughshedumpedmethefirstweekofsummersothatshecouldgooutwithZachHiggins.

Ithinkoftextingthistoher,butinsteadIturnoffmyphoneandclosemyeyesandseeifIcan’ttransportmyselfrightbackintoJuly.TheonlythingIhadtoworryaboutthenwasgoingtowork,scavengingthelocalscrapyard,building(mind-blowing)projectsinmy(kick-ass)workshop,andhangingoutwithmybrothers.LifewouldbesomucheasierifitwasjustJack+scrapyard+kick-assworkshop+mind-blowingprojects.Youshouldneverhavegonetotheparty.Youshouldneverhavehadadrink.

Youknowyoucan’tbetrusted.Avoidalcohol.Avoidcrowds.Avoidpeople.Youonlyenduppissingthemoff.

It’s6:33a.m.andIamoutofbedandstandinginfrontofthemirror.Therewasatime,alittleovertwoyearsago,whenIcouldn’t,wouldn’tlookatmyself.AllIsawwasthebunched-upfaceofMosesHunt,yellingatmeacrosstheplayground:Noonewilleverloveyoubecauseyou’refat!Andthefacesofalltheotherfifthgradersastheystartedtolaugh.You’resobigyoublockthemoon.Gohome,FlabbyStout,gohometoyourroom.…Today,forthemostpart,Ionlyseeme—adorablenavydress,sneakers,

medium-longishbrownhairthatmysweetbutslightlydementedgrandmotheroncedescribedas“theexactcolorofHighlandcattle.”Andthereflectionofmygiantdirtycottonballofacat.Georgestaresatmewithwisegoldeyes,andItrytoimaginewhathemightsaytome.Fouryearsago,hewasdiagnosedwithheartfailureandgivensixmonthstolive.ButIknowhimwellenoughtoknowthatonlyGeorgewilldecidewhenit’stimeforGeorgetogo.Heblinksatme.Rightnow,Ithinkhewouldtellmetobreathe.SoIbreathe.I’vegottenreallygoodatbreathing.Ilookdownatmyhandsandthey’resteady,evenifthefingernailsarebitten

tothequick,and,weirdly,Ifeelprettycalm,considering.Irealize:thepanicattacknevercame.Thisissomethingtocelebrate,soIthrowononeofmymom’soldalbumsanddance.DancingiswhatIlovemostanddancingiswhatIplantodowithmylife.Ihaven’ttakenlessonssinceIwasten,butthedanceisinme,andnolackoftrainingcanmakethatgoaway.Itellmyself,MaybethisyearyoucantryoutfortheDamsels.

Mybraingoeszoomingupthewall,whereithangs,shaking.Whatifitneverhappens?Whatifyoudiebeforeanythinggoodorwonderfuloramazingeverhappenstoyou?Forthepasttwoandahalfyears,theonlythingI’vehadtoworryabouthasbeenmysurvival.Thefocusofeverysinglepersoninmylife,includingme,hasbeen:Wejustneedtogetyoubetter.AndnowI’mbetter.SowhatifIletthemdownafterallthetimeandenergythey’veinvestedinme?Idancehardertopushthethoughtsoutuntilmydadthumpsonthedoor.His

headappears.“YouknowIloveagoodPatBenatarsongfirstthinginthemorning,butthequestionis:howdotheneighborsfeel?”Iturnitdownalittlebutkeeponmoving.Whenthesongisover,Ifinda

markeranddecorateoneshoe.Aslongasyoulive,there’salwayssomethingwaiting;andevenifit’sbad,andyouknowit’sbad,whatcanyoudo?Youcan’tstopliving.(TrumanCapote,InColdBlood)ThenIreachforthelipstickmygrandmothergavemeformybirthday,leanintothemirror,andpaintmylipsred.

Iheartheshowerrunningandvoicesdownstairs.Ipullthepillowovermyface,butit’stoolate—I’mawake.IturnonmyphoneandtextfirstCaroline,thenKam,thenReedYoung.The

thingIsaytoallofthemisthatIwasverydrunk(anexaggeration)anditwasverydark(itwas)andIdon’trememberanythingthathappenedbecauseIwasnotonlydrunk,Iwasupset.There’sjustthisshithappeningathomethatIcan’ttalkaboutrightnow,soifyoucanbearwithmeandfinditinyourhearttoforgiveme,I’llbeforeverinyourdebt.Theshithappeningathomepartiscompletelytrue.ForCaroline,Ithrowinsomecomplimentsandaskhertopleaseapologize

tohercousinforme.IsayIdon’twanttocontactherdirectlybecauseI’vealreadymadeamessofthingsandIdon’twanttodoanythingelsetomakethingsworsebetweenCarolineandme.EventhoughCarolinewastheonewhobrokeupwithme,andeventhoughwe’recurrentlyinanoff-againphase,andeventhoughIhaven’tseenhersinceJune,Ibasicallyeatcrowandthenthrowitupallovermyphone.ThisisthepriceIpayfortryingtokeepeveryonehappy.Idragmyselfdownthehalltothebathroom.ThethingIneedmostinthis

worldisalong,hotshower,butwhatIgetinsteadisatrickleofwarmwaterfollowedbyablastofIcelandiccold.Sixtysecondslater—becausethat’sallIcanbear—Igetout,dryoff,andstandinfrontofthemirror.Sothisisme.IthinkthiseverytimeIseemyreflection.NotinaDamn,that’smeway,but

morelikeHuh.Okay.Whathavewegothere?Ileanin,tryingtoputthepiecesofmyfacetogether.

Theguyinthemirrorisn’tbad-looking—highcheekbones,strongjaw,amouththat’shitchedupatonecornerlikehejustgotdonetellingajoke.Somewhereintheneighborhoodofpretty.Thewayhetiltshisheadbackandgazesoutthroughhalf-openeyelidsmakesitseemlikehe’susedtolookingdownoneveryone,likehe’ssmartandheknowshe’ssmart,andthenithitsmethatwhathereallylookslikeisanasshole.Exceptfortheeyesthemselves.They’retooseriousandtherearecirclesunderthem,likehehasn’tslept.He’swearingthesameSupermanshirtI’vebeenwearingallsummer.Whatdoesthismouth(Mom’s)meanwiththisnose(alsoMom’s)andthese

eyes(acombinationofMom’sandDad’s)?Myeyebrowsaredarkerthanmyhairbuttheyaren’tasdarkasDad’s.Myskinisakindofmiddlebrowncolor,notdarklikeMom’s,andnotlightlikeDad’s.Theotherthingthatdoesn’tmatchuphereisthehair.It’sthisenormous

lion’smaneAfrothatlookslikeit’sallowedtodowhateverthefuckitwants.Ifhe’sanythinglikeme,theguyinthemirrorcalculateseverything.Eventhoughthishaircannotbecontained,he’sgrownitforareason.Sohecanfindhimself.Somethingaboutthewaythesefeaturesaddupishowpeoplefindeachother

intheworld.Somethingaboutthecombinationmakesthemgo,There’sJackMasselin.“What’syouridentifier?”Isaytomyreflection,andImeanthereal

identifier,notthisgiantlionfro.I’mhavingarightseriousmoment,butthenIhearadistinctsnicker,andatall,skinnyblurgoesbreezingby.ThatwouldbemybrotherMarcus.“Myname’sJackandI’msopretty,”hesingsallthewaydownthestairs.

Top5MostEmbarrassingMomentsofMyLifebyJackMasselin

1. Thattimemymompickedmeupfromkindergarten(aftergettingherhaircut),andinfrontofmyteacher,theotherkids,theotherparents,andtheprincipal,Iaccusedheroftryingtokidnapme.

2. ThattimeIjoinedthepickup(uniform-free)soccergameatReynoldsParkandpassedeveryballtotheoppositeteam,settingtheall-timeparkrecordforMostDisastrousandHumiliatingDebutEver.

3. ThattimeI’dbeenworkingwithourhighschoolsportstherapistbecauseofashoulderinjury,and,inthemiddleofWalmart,toldthemanIthoughtwasmybaseballcoach,Icoulduseanothermassage,onlytodiscoveritwasactuallyMr.Temple,Mom’sboss.

4. ThattimeIhitonJesselleVillegas,anditturnedouttobeMissArbulata,substituteteacher.

5. ThattimeImadeoutwithCarolineLushampanditwasactuallyhercousin.

Idon’thavemylicense,soDaddrivesme.Oneofthemany,manythingsIgettolookforwardtothisschoolyearisdriver ’sed.Iwaitformyfathertooffermesagewordsofadviceorastirringpeptalk,butthemosthecomesupwithis“Yougotthis,Libbs.I’llbeheretopickyouupwhenit’sover.”Andthewayhesaysitsoundsominous,likewe’reintheopeningsceneofahorrormovie.Thenhegivesmeasmile,whichisthekindofsmiletheywouldteachyouinaparentingvideo.It’sanervoussmiletapedupatthecorners.Ismileback.WhatifIgetstuckbehindadesk?WhatifIhavetoeatlunchaloneandno

onetalkstomefortherestoftheschoolyear?Mydadisabig,handsomeguy.Saltoftheearth.Smart(hedoesITsecurity

forabig-namecomputercompany).Smushyheart.Aftertheyfreedmefromthehouse,hehadahardtimeofit.Asawfulasitwasforme,Ithinkitwasworseforhim,especiallytheaccusationsofneglectandabuse.Thepresscouldn’timaginehowelseIwouldhavebeenallowedtogetsobig.Theydidn’tknowaboutthedoctorshetookmetoandthedietswetried,evenashewasmourningthelossofhiswife.Theydidn’tseethefoodIhidfromhimundermybedanddeepintheshadowsofmycloset.Theycouldn’tknowthatonceImakeupmymindaboutsomething,I’mgoingtodoit.AndI’dmadeupmymindtoeat.Atfirst,Irefusedtotalktoreporters,butatsomepointIneededtoshowthe

worldthatI’mokayandthatmydadisn’tthevillaintheymadehimouttobe,stuffingmewithcandyandcakeinanefforttokeepmethereanddependentonhimlikethosegirlsfromTheVirginSuicides.Soagainstmydad’swishesIdid

oneinterviewwithanewsstationoutofChicago,andthatinterviewtraveledallthewaytoEuropeandAsiaandbackagain.Yousee,mywholeworldchangedwhenIwasten.Mymomdied,whichwas

traumaticenough,butthenthebullyingstarted.Itdidn’thelpthatIdevelopedearlyandthatallatoncemybodyfelttoobigforme.I’mnotsayingIblamemyclassmates.Afterall,wewerekids.ButIjustwanttomakeitclearthatthereweremultiplefactorsatwork—thebullyingcoupledwiththelossofmymostimportantperson,followedbythepanicattackswheneverIhadtoleavemyhouse.Throughitall,mydadwastheonewhostoodbyme.Isaytomydadnow,“DidyouknowthatPaulinePotter,theWorld’s

HeaviestWoman,lostninety-eightpoundshavingmarathonsex?”“Nosexofanykindforyouuntilyou’rethirty.”Ithink,We’llsee.Afterall,miracleshappeneveryday.Whichmeansmaybe

thosekidswhoweresohatefultomeontheplaygroundhavegrownupandrealizedtheerroroftheirways.Maybethey’veactuallyturnedouttobenice.Ormaybethey’reevenmeaner.EverybookIreadandmovieIwatchseemstogiveoutthesamemessage:highschoolistheworstexperienceyoucaneverhave.WhatifIaccidentallytellsomeoneoffsothatIbecometheSassyFatGirl?

Whatifsomewell-meaningskinnygirlsadoptmeastheirownandIbecometheFatBestFriend?Whatifit’scleartoeveryonethatmyhomeschoolinghasreallyonlyequippedmeforeighthgrade,noteleventh,becauseI’mtoostupidtounderstandanyofmyclasswork?Mydadsays,“Allyouhavetodoistoday,Libbs.Ifitcompletelyandtotally

sucks,wecangobacktohomeschooling.Justgivemeoneday.Actually,don’tgiveittome.Giveyourselfoneday.”Itellmyself:Today.Itellmyself:Thisiswhatyoudreamedofwhenyouwere

tooscaredtoleavethehouse.Thisiswhatyoudreamedofwhenyouwerelyinginyourbedforsixmonths.Thisiswhatyouwanted—tobeoutintheworldlikeeveryoneelse.Itellmyself:It’stakenyoutwoandahalfyearsoffatcampsandcounselorsandpsychologistsanddoctorsandbehavioralcoachesandtrainerstogetreadyforthis.Forthepasttwoandahalfyears,you’vewalkedtenthousandstepsaday.Everyoneofthemwaspointingyoutonow.Ican’tdrive.I’veneverbeentoadance.Icompletelymissedmiddleschool.I’veneverhadaboyfriend,althoughIdidmakeoutwiththisboyatcamp

once.HisnameisRobbieandhe’srepeatinghissenioryearsomewhereinIowa.

Exceptformymom,I’veneverhadabestfriend,unlessyoucounttheonesImadeupformyself—threebrotherswholivedacrossthestreetfrommyoldhouse.TheonesIcalledDean,Sam,andCastiel,becausetheywenttoprivateschoolandIdidn’tknowtheirnames.TheonesIpretendedweremyfriends.MydadlookssonervousandhopefulthatIgrabmybagandpushoutonto

thesidewalk,andthenI’mstandinginfrontoftheschoolaspeoplewalkpastme.WhatifI’mlatetoeveryclassbecauseIcan’twalkfastenough,andthenI

getdetention,whereIwillmeettheonlyboyswhowillpayattentiontome—burnoutsanddelinquents—fallinlovewithoneofthem,getpregnant,dropoutbeforeIcangraduate,andlivewithmydadfortherestofmylifeoratleastuntilthebabyiseighteen?Ialmostgetbackinthecar,butmydadisstillsittingthere,hopefulsmile

stillonhisface.“Yougotthis.”Hesaysitlouderthistimeand—Isweartoyou—givesmeathumbs-up.WhichiswhyIjointhecrowdandletthemcarrymealonguntilI’mwaiting

myturnattheentrance,openingmybagsothattheguardcancheckit,walkingthroughmetaldetectors,steppingintoalonghallwaythatsplintersoffinalldirections,bumpedandjostledbyelbowsandarms.Ithink,SomewhereinthisschoolcouldbeaboyIfallinlovewith.Oneofthesefineyoungmenmightbetheonewhoatlonglastclaimsmyheartandmybody.IamthePaulinePotterofMartinVanBurenHighSchool.Iamgoingtosextherestofthisweightrightoffme.I’mlookingatalltheboysgoingby.Itcouldbethatguyormaybethisone.That’sthebeautyofthisworld.Rightnow,thatboyrightthereorthatoneovertheremeansnothingtome,butsoonwewillmeetandchangetheworld,hisandmine.“Moveit,fat-ass,”someonesays.Ifeelthestingoftheword,likeapinprick,

liketheworditselfistryingtopopmethewayitpopsmythoughtbubble.Iforgeahead.ThegreatthingaboutmysizeisthatIcanclearapath.

Likethehair,thecarispartoftheimage.It’sarestored1968LandRoverthatMarcusandIboughtfromanelderlyuncle.Itwasoriginallyusedforfarmworkbeforeitsatrustingforforty-someyears,butnowit’spartJeep,partall-terrainvehicle,andonehundredpercenttotalbadass.Inthepassengerseat,Marcussulks.“Asshole.”Thisissaidlowandtothe

window.Unfortunatelyforme,hegothislicenseamonthago.“You’readorable.Ihopeeleventhgradewon’tspoilyourboyishcharm.You

candrivenextyearwhenI’matcollege.”IfIgotocollege.IfIeverleavethisplace.Heholdsuphismiddlefingerinmydirection.Fromtheback,ouryounger

brother,Dusty,kickstheseat.“Stopfighting.”“We’renotfighting,littleman.”“YousoundlikeMomandDad.Makethemusiclouder.”Acoupleofyearsago,myparentsgotalongprettywell.ButthenDadwas

diagnosedwithcancer.TheweekbeforehewasdiagnosedIfoundouthewascheatingonmymom.Hedoesn’tknowIknow,andI’mnotsureMomknows,butsometimesIwonder.He’scancer-clearnow,bytheway,butithasn’tbeeneasy,especiallyonDusty,who’sten.Iturnupthesong,anoldie—JustinTimberlake’s“SexyBack”—andIcan

feelmyselfsettlingonceagainintomyzone.I’vegotfoursoundtracksongsthatIwishwouldstartblastingeverytimeIwalkintoaroom,andthisisoneofthem.

WepullupoutsideDusty’sschool,andhegoesleapingoutbeforeIcanstophim.Igetoutafterhim,takingthekeyssoMarcuscan’tdriveoffwiththecar.Thissummer,Dustystartedcarryingapurse.Noonetalksaboutit—notmy

momordadorMarcus.DustyishalfwayupthewalkbeforeIchasehimdown.Ihavetokeepmy

eyesonhimsoIdon’tlosehim.Hehasthedarkestskinofthethreeofus,andhishairisthecolorofacopperpenny.Technically,Momishalfblack,halfLouisianaCreole,andDadiswhiteandJewish.DustyisdarklikeMom.Marcus,ontheotherhand,couldn’tbewhiter.Me?I’mjustJackMasselin,whoeverthehellthatis.Dustysays,“Idon’twanttobelate.”“Youwon’tbe.Ijustwantedto…Areyousureaboutthepurse,littleman?”“Ilikeit.Icanfiteverythinginhere.”“Ilikeittoo.It’sareallydamncoolpurse.ButI’mnotsureeveryone’s

goingtodigitasmuchaswedo.Theremightbesomekidsherewhoaregoingtobesojealousofthatpursethatthey’llmakefunofyou.”Iseeabouttenofthemwalkingpastusrightnow.“Theywon’tbejealous.They’llthinkit’sweird.”“Ijustdon’twantanyonetoberoughonyou.”“IfIwanttocarryapurse,I’mgoingtocarryit.I’mnotgoingtonotcarryit

justbecausetheydon’tlikeit.”Andinthatmoment,thisscrawnykidwithbigearsismyhero.Ashewalks

away,Iwatchthewayhemoves,straightasanarrow,chinup.Iwanttofollowhimallthewayintoschooltomakesurenothinghappenstohim.

7CareersforSomeonewithProsopagnosiabyJackMasselin

1. Shepherd(assumingfaceblindnessdoesn’textendtodogsandsheep).2. Tollboothoperator(assumingnooneyouknowistakingtheroute

you’reworking).3. Rockstar/boybandmember,NBAplayer,orsomeotherprofession

alongtheselines(wherepeopleexpectyoutohaveanegosomassivetheywon’tbesurprisedifyoudon’trememberthem).

4. Writer(themostrecommendedjobforpeoplewithsocialanxietydisorders).

5. Dogwalker/trainer(seenumberone,above).6. Embalmer(exceptthatImightgetthecorpsesmixedup).7. Hermit(ideal,exceptthepayisn’tverygood).

Iclearapathallthewaytomyfirstclass,whereItakeaseatintherowclosesttothedoor,incaseIneedtofleeatsomepoint.Ijustfitbehindthedesk.Undermyshirt,mybackisdamp,andmyheartskipsabeat.Noonecanseeit,though.Atleast,Ihopenoonecanseeitbecausethere’snothingworsethanbeingknownasthesweatyfatgirl.Asmyclassmatestricklein,afewofthemstare.Acoupleofthemsnicker.Idon’trecognizeanyoftheeleven-year-oldkidsIonceknewintheseteenagefaces.ButschoolisexactlywhatIexpected,yetmoreatthesametime.Forone

thing,MartinVanBurenHighSchoolhasabouttwothousandstudents,soitisaplacepackedwithcommotion.Foranother,noonelooksasshinyandpolishedastheydointheTVandmovieversionsofhighschool.Realteensaren’ttwenty-fiveyearsold.Wehavebadskinandbadhairandgoodskinandgoodhair,andwe’realldifferentshapesandsizes.IlikeusbetterthanourTVselves,eventhoughsittinghere,Ifeellikeanactorplayingapart.I’mthefishoutofwater,thenewgirlatschool.Whatwillmystorybe?IdecidethatwhatI’vegothereisacleanslate.AsfarasI’mconcerned,this

ismestartingover,andwhateverhappenedwhenIwaseleven,twelve,thirteendoesn’texistnow.I’mdifferent.They’redifferent,atleastontheoutside.Maybetheywon’trememberIwasthatgirl.Idon’tplanonremindingthem.Ilookthemintheeyeandgivethemmyfather ’snewsignaturetaped-up-

cornersmile.Thisseemstosurprisethem.Acoupleofthemsmileback.Theboynexttomeholdsouthishand.“Mick.”“Libby.”

“I’mfromCopenhagen.I’mherefortheexchangeprogram.”Evenwithcrow-blackhair,heisViking-like.“AreyoufromAmos?”IwanttosayI’manexchangestudenttoo.I’mherefromAustralia.I’mhere

fromFrance.ButtheonlyboysI’vetalkedtointhepastfiveyearsaretheonesatfatcamp,whichiswhyIdon’tdoanythingbutnod.Hetellsmehowhewasn’tsureatfirstwhethertocomehere,butthenhe

decideditwouldbeagoodexperiencetoseetheheartlandoftheStatesand“thewaymostAmericanslive.”Whateverthatmeans.Imanagetosay,“What’syourfavoritethingaboutIndiana?”“ThatIgettogohomeoneday.”Helaughs,soIlaugh,andthentwogirlswalkinandtheireyesgo

immediatelytome.Oneofthemwhisperssomethingtotheother,andtheytaketheseatsinfrontofus.There’ssomethingfamiliaraboutthesegirls,butIcan’tplacethem.MaybeIknewthembefore.MyskinpricklesandIhavethathorrormoviefeelingagain.Ilookupattheceilingasifapianoisabouttofallonmyhead.BecauseIknowit’sgoingtocomefromsomewhere.Italwaysdoes.ItellmyselftogiveMickachance,givethesegirlsachance,givethisdaya

chance,givemyselfachancemostofall.ThewayIseeit,I’velostmymom,eatenmyselfnearlytodeath,beencutoutofmyhousewhilethewholecountrywatched,enduredexerciseregimesanddietsandthenation’sdisappointment,andI’vereceivedhatemailfromtotalstrangers.Itisdisgustingthatanyonewouldeverletthemselvesgetsolarge,anditis

disgustingthatyourfatherwouldn’tdoanythingaboutit.IhopeyousurvivethisandgetstraightwithGod.Therearepeoplestarvingintheworldanditisshamefulthatyouwouldeatsomuchwhenothersdon’thaveenough.SoIaskyou,Whatcanhighschooldotomethathasn’talreadybeendone?

Withaminutetospare,werollintotheparkinglot,intothelastemptyspaceinthefirstrowofcars.Marcusdropshisphone,andwhenhesitsupagain,it’sasifhe’sabrand-newperson.Likethat,theEtchASketchinmybrainiscleared,andIhavetostartover,addinguptheparts:Shaggyhair+pointychin+eight-foot-longgiraffelegs=Marcus.TheLandRover ’sbarelyinparkbeforehe’soutthedoorandcallingto

people.IwanttosayWaitforme.Don’tmakemegoouttherebymyself.IwanttograbholdofhisarmandholdonsoIdon’tlosehim.Instead,Ikeepmyeyesonhim,notblinkingbecausethatwillmakehimdisappear.Andthenhemorphsintothecrowd,movingtowardschoollikeoneoftheherd.Theanimalkingdomhascrazynamesforanimalgroups.Azealofzebras.A

murderofcrows.Anunkindnessofravens.And,myfavorite,anembarrassmentofpandas.Whatwouldthisgroupbecalled?Ahorrorofstudents?Anightmareofteens?Justforfun,Iscanthefacesgoingby,lookingformybrother.Butit’sliketryingtochooseyourfavoritepolarbearoutofanauroraofthem.Isitforthirtyseconds,enjoyingthesolitude:30.29.28.27…ThisisitforthedayuntilI’mhomeagain.Inthisthirtyseconds,Iletmyself

thinkallthethingsIwon’tletmyselfthinkforthenexteighthours.Thesongalwaysstartsthesameway.Ihaveafucked-upbrain.…

Twentyminutesintoclass,nooneisstaringatme.Ourteacher,Mrs.Belk,istalkingandsofarI’mabletokeepup.Mickiswhisperingclevercommentaryjustformybenefit,whichmakeshimeithermynewbestchumormyfutureboyfriend,orpossiblytheboywhowillsextherestofthisweightrightoffme.Youbelonghereasmuchasanyone.Nooneknowswhoyouare.Noone

cares.You’vegotthis,girl.Don’tgetaheadofyourself,butIthinkyou’vegotthis.AndthenIlaughatoneofthethingsMicksaysandsomethinggoesflying

outofmynoseandlandsonhistextbook.Mrs.Belksays,“Settle,please.”Andkeepsontalking.Isupergluemyeyestoher,butIcanstillseeMickinmyperipheralvision.

I’mnotsurehenoticesthethingIshotathim,andIdon’tdarelook.Pleasedon’tseeit.Hegoesrightonwhisperingasifnothinghappened,asiftheworldisnot

abouttoend,butnowIonlywanttoclosemyeyesanddie.ThisisnotthefootIwanttostarton.ThisisnotwhatIenvisionedformyselfwhenIwaslyingawakelastnightimaginingmygrandreentranceintoteenagesociety.Maybehe’llthinkthisissomeweirdAmericantradition.Like,somebizarre

customwehaveforwelcomingforeignerstoourcountry.IspendtherestoftheclassperiodfocusinghardonwhatMrs.Belkis

saying,myeyesonthefrontoftheroom.

Whenthebellrings,thetwofamiliar-lookinggirlsturnaroundandstareatme,andIseethattheyareCarolineLushampandKendraWu,girlsI’veknown

sincefirstgrade.AfterIwasrescuedfrommyhouse,theywereinterviewedbythepress,referredtoas“closefriendsofthetroubledteen.”ThelasttimeIsawtheminperson,Carolinewasahomelyeleven-year-oldwhoworethesameHarryPotterscarfeveryday,nomatterhowhotitwas.Herotherdistinguishingfactorswerethatshe’dmovedtoAmosfromWashington,DC,whenshewasinkindergarten,andshewasself-consciousoverherfeet,whichhadtheseverylongtoesthatcurledlikeaparrot’s.ThethingIrememberaboutKendraisthatshewrotePercyJacksonfanfictiononherjeansandcriedeverysingledayoveranything—boys,homework,rain.Caroline,ofcourse,isnoweightfeettallandbeautifulenoughtobea

shampoomodel.Shewearsaskirtandatightlittlejacket,likeshegoestoprivateschool.Kendra—whosesmileappearstobetattooedon—isdressedallinblack,andisjustprettyenoughthatshecouldhostessattheApplebee’sonthegoodsideoftown.Carolinesaystome,“I’veseenyoubefore.”“Igetthatallthetime.”Shestares,andIknowshe’stryingtoplaceme.“I’llhelpyouout.EveryonegetsmeconfusedwithJenniferLawrence,but

we’renotevenrelated.”Hereyebrowsshootuplikerubberbands.“Iknow,right?It’shardtobelieve,butIwentonAncestry.comanddouble-

checked.”“You’rethegirlwhowastrappedinherhouse.”ShesaystoKendra,“The

firedepartmenthadtocutheroutofthere,remember?Wewereonthenews?”NotYou’reLibbyStrout,thegirlwe’veknownsincefirstgrade,butYou’re

thegirlwhowastrappedinherhouseandwasthereasonwegottobeontelevision.MickfromCopenhageniswatchingallofthis.Isay,“You’rethinkingof

JenniferLawrenceagain.”Caroline’svoicegoessoftandsympathetic.“Howareyoudoing?Iwasso

worried.Ican’tevenimaginewhatthatmusthavebeenlikeforyou.ButohmyGod,youlostsomuchweight.Didn’tshe,Kendra?”Kendraistechnicallystillsmiling,buttheupperhalfofherfaceispinched

intoafrown.“Somuch.”“Youlookreallypretty.”Kendraisstillsmile-frowning.“Iloveyourhair.”OneoftheworstthingsaprettygirlcansaytoafatgirlisYoulookreally

pretty.OrIloveyourhair.Irealizelumpingallprettygirlstogetherisjustasbadaslumpingallfatgirlstogether,andIrealizethatyoucanbeprettyandfat

(hello!),butit’sbeenmyexperiencethatthesearethingsgirlslikeCarolineLushampandKendraWusaytoyouwhenthey’rereallythinkingsomethingelse.ThesearepitycomplimentsandIfeelmysouldiealittle.Withoutaword,MickfromCopenhagengetsupandwalksoutoftheroom.

CarolineLushampistheclosestthingIhavetoagirlfriend.Thisusedtobebecauseshewasgeekyandsweet,and,mostofall,smart.WhenIfirstfellforher,shewasthekindofsmartthatdidn’tmakeashowofit—thatcamelater.Shewouldjustsitbackandsoakthingsuplikeasponge.We’dgetonthephoneaftereveryoneelsehadgonetosleep,andshe’dtellmeaboutherday—whatshesaw,whatshethought.Sometimeswetalkedallnight.TheCarolineoftodayistallandgorgeous,butherbiggestidentifieristhat

shecanpartacrowd.Sheintimidatesthehelloutofeveryone,eventheteachers,mostlybecauseshespeaksupnow—always—andtellsitlikeitis.Themainreasonwe’restillatallon-againishistory.Iknowshemuststillbeinthereevenifthere’snosignofher.ThisnewCarolinearrivedwithoutwarning,sophomoreyear,whichmeanstheoldCarolinecould(possibly)comebackatanyminute.Theotherreasonisthatsheisgenerallyeasyformetorecognize.Iturndownmyleast-favoritehall,theoneoutsidethelibrary,theonewhere

Caroline’slockeris.WhenIwasafreshman,Iworkedinthelibrary,andifIrunintoanyofthelibrarians,they’llallsayhiandaskhowmyfamilyis,andI’llbeexpectedtoknowwhotheyare.AsIwalk,peoplearesayinghitome,andthat’sanightmaretoo.Iputon

someextraswagger,halfsmilingateveryone,keepingitcasual,butImustmisssomeonebecauseIhear,“Prick.”Thewatersaretreacherous.Andalsofickle.ThisisthefirstthingIlearned

abouthighschool.Oneminuteyou’rewellliked,thenextminuteyou’reanoutcast.JustaskLukeRevis,themostfamouscautionarytaleatMVB.Luke

wasthemanourfreshmanyeartilleveryonefoundouthisdadservedtimeinprison.NowLuke’sinprisontoo,andyoudon’twanttoknowwhy.Atthismoment,thehallisfullofpotentialLukes.Onekidbeingstuffedinto

alocker.Anotherkidtrippingoversomeone’soutstretchedfootsothathegoesflyingintosomeoneelse,whoshoveshim,untilhe’sbouncingfromonepersontoanotherlikeahumanvolleyball.Girlstrash-talkinganothergirlrightinfrontofherfacesothatsheturnsaway,allred-eyedandcrying.Anothergirlwalkingbywithabigscarlet“A”swingingfromherback,whichleavespeoplesnickeringinherwakebecauseeveryonebutHesterPrynneisinonthejoke.Foreverysinglelaughingpersoninthishallway,therearefivewholookeitherterrifiedormiserable.Itrytoimaginewhatitwouldbelikeifthegeneralhighschoolpublicknew

aboutme—theycouldliterallywalkrightupandstealmyshitorstealmycar,thencomebackandhelpmelookforit.Thisguycouldposeasthatguyorthisgirlcouldpretendtobethatgirl,anditwouldbereallyfuckinghilarious.Everyoneinonthejokebutme.IwanttokeepwalkingtillI’matthefrontentranceandthenrunthehellout

ofhere.Ihear,“Waitup,Mass,”andIstartwalkingfaster.“Mass!”Holyshit.Fuckoff,whoeveryouare.“Mass!Mass!Waitup,youfucker!”Thisguyrunstocatchupwithme.He’saboutmyheightandstocky.Hishair

isbrownandhe’swearinganondescriptshirt.Iglanceathisbackpack,thebookhe’scarrying,hisshoes,anythingthatmightgivemeaclueastowhoheis.Meanwhilehe’slaunchingintoaconversation.“Man,youneedtogetyourhearingchecked.”“Sorry.I’mmeetingCaroline.”Ifheknowsher,thiswillwork.“Shit.”Heknowsher.WhenitcomestoCarolineLushamp,mostpeoplefall

intooneoftwocamps—they’reeitherinlovewithherorterrifiedofher.“Nowonderyou’resomewhereelse.”ThewayhesaysitletsmeknowhebelongstoCampTerrified.“Ijustthoughtyoumightwanttotellmetomyface.”Thisisyetanothernightmare—whentheydon’tgiveyouenoughtogoon.“Tellyouwhat?”“Areyouserious?”Hestopsinthemiddleofthehall,andgoesredinthe

cheeks.“She’smygirlfriend.You’reluckyIdon’tbeattheshitoutofyou.”ThisisalmostcertainlyReedYoung,butthere’saslightchanceitcouldbe

someoneelse.Idecidetokeepitgenericwhiletryingtosoundasspecificas

possible.“You’reright.Iamlucky,anddon’tthinkIdon’tappreciateit.Ioweyou,man.”“Yeah,youdo.”Ihearvoicescomingdownthehall,loudandboisterouslikeamob

pillagingthecountryside.Peoplearedodgingoutoftheway,andherecomeacoupleofguysasbigasthefootballfield.Theygo,“What’sup,Mass?Heardyouhadanicetimeattheparty.”Andtheylaughhysterically.Imaynotrecognizethem,buttheseareapparentlyfriendsofmine.Oneofthemramshisshoulderintosomepoorkidslinkingpastandthentellsthekidtowatchwherehe’sgoing.Isaytothefootballfield,“Dude,showsomerespect.”AndnodatReed.

ThenIsaytohim,“Really,man.You’reagoodfriend.”Thisisn’texactlytrue,butheandIhavebeenonthebaseballteamtogethersincefreshmanyear.“Well.Istillwanttokickyourass,butdon’tletithappenagain.”“Never.”Helookstowardthelibrary.Agirlstandsatthelockersopposite,talkingon

herphone.Heshivers.“Iwouldn’twanttobeyourightnow.”Andheboltsintheotherdirection,followedbythehumanfootballfields.AsIgetclosertothegirl,Icanseethelighteyesagainstthedarkskinand

themoleshepaintsonbyherrighteyebrow,eventhougheveryoneknowsit’snotreal.Runawaywhileyoustillcan.Shelooksup.“Seriously?”shesays,andyep,it’sCaroline.Shedoesn’twait,

justturnstogointothelibrary,whereIcanseethelibrariansbehindthedesk,waitingformetowalkintheresotheycanmakeafooloutofme.IgrabherarmandspinheraroundandeventhoughIdon’twantto,Ipull

herinandkissthebreathoutofher.“That’swhatIshouldhavedoneonSaturday,”IsaywhenIlethergo.“That’swhatIshouldhavebeendoingallsummer.”Caroline’sAchilles’heelisrom-comsandvampireromances.Shewantsto

liveinaworldwherethehotguygrabsthegirlandjustplantsoneonherbecausehe’ssoovercomewithdesireandlovethathe’srenderedbrainless.SoItouchherface,pushherhairbehindherear,carefulnottomessituporshe’llbemadder.Forsomereason,eyecontact,asarule,istoughforme,whichmeansIfocusonhermouth.“You’rebeautiful.”Becareful.Isthiswhatyouwant?We’vebeendownthisrabbitholebefore,

buddy.Dowereallywanttogodownitagain?Butthere’sapartofmethatneedsher.AndhatesthatIneedher.

Icanfeelhersoftening.IfIknowCaroline,thisisthegreatestpresentIcouldevergiveher—lettingherbetheforgiver.Shedoesn’tsmile—Carolinerarelysmilesanymore—buthereyesdarttothefloor,fixingthemselvesonsomeinvisiblesomethingthere.Thecornersofhermouthturndown.Sheisthinkingitover.Finally,shesays,“You’retheworst,JackMasselin.Idon’tknowwhyIeventalktoyou.”WhichisCaroline-speakforIloveyoutoo.“WhataboutZach?”“Ibrokeupwithhimtwoweeksago.”Andlikethat,we’rebacktogether.Shetakesmyhandandwewalkthroughthehalls,andmyheart’sbeatinga

littlefastandI’vegotthisfeelingofI’msafe.Withoutevenknowingit,she’llbemyguide.She’lltellmewho’swho.We’reCarolineandJack,JackandCaroline.AslongasI’mwithherI’msafe.I’msafe.I’msafe.

AccordingtoMr.Dominguez,ifhewasn’tteachingdriver ’sed,he’dberepossessingcars.Notthecarsofpeoplewhocan’taffordpayments.No,he’dreclaimthecarsofthepeoplewhoarebaddrivers,andthen,likeRobinHood,he’dgivethosecarstoanorphanageortogooddriverswhocan’taffordtheirownsetofwheels.It’shardtotellifhe’sseriousbecausehehasabsolutelynosenseofhumorandheglaresateverything.HeisthesexiestmanI’veeverseen.“Alotofschoolsaredoingawaywithdriver ’sed.Theysendyouout

somewheretotakeclasses…”Thewayhesayssomewheremakesitsoundlikeadarkandterribleplace.“Butweteachyouherebecausewecare.”Andthenheshowsusafilmonunderriding,whichiswhencarsrear-end

semitrucksandgoplowingunderthem.Atfirst,thisboynamedTravisKearnsislaughing,butthenheuttersonelast“Goddamn”andgoesquiet.Tenminuteslater,evenBaileyBishopisn’tsmiling,andMoniqueBentonaskspermissiontogothrowupinthebathroom.Aftersheleaves,Mr.Dominguezsays,“Anyoneelse?”AsifMonique

walkedoutinprotestandnotclutchingherstomach.“Statisticssayyou’regoingtodieinacarcrashbeforeyou’retwenty-one.I’mheretomakesurethatdoesn’thappen.”Myskinprickles.Ifeellikehe’spreparingustogotobattle,likeHaymitch

toourKatniss.Acrosstheroom,Baileygoes,“Ohmygolly,”whichisherequivalentof“Holyfuck.”Everyonelooksillexceptme.Thisisbecauseinthatmoment,assomeone’sheadgoesrollingoffdown

thehighway,IknowthepartIwanttoplayhereinthisclassandatMVBHigh.

I’mnotgoingtobeastatistic—I’vebeatenstatisticsformostofmylife.I’mnotgoingtobeoneofthosedriverswhogetssmashedunderatruck.Iwanttobethegirlwhocandoanything.IwanttobethegirlwhotriesoutfortheMVBDamselsandmakestheteam.Iraisemyhand.Mr.Domingueznodsatmeandmyskingoeselectric.“Howsoondowedrive?”“Whenyou’reready.”

Top8ThingsIHateAboutCancerbyJackMasselin

1. Itrunsinfamilies,whichmeansevenifyou’remyage,youcanstillfeellikeyou’vegotatargetonyourback.

2. Itrunsinmyfamily.3. Thewayitcanhityoulikeameteor,completelyoutoftheblue.4. Chemo.5. It’sreallygoddamnserious.(Inotherwords,donot,whateveryoudo,

smileorlaughaboutsomethinginanefforttolightenthemood.)6. Havingtobribe/bargainwithGod,eventhoughyou’renotsurehe

exists.7. Whenyourdadgetsdiagnosedyoursophomoreyearoneweekafter

youfindouthe’sbeencheatingonyourmother.8. Seeingyourmomcry.

IstopintheofficeofHeatherAlpernonmywaytofourthperiod.Sheiseatingappleslices,longlegscrossed,longarmsdrapedlikecatsonthearmrestsofherchair.BeforeshewascoachoftheDamsels,shewasaRadioCityMusicHallRockette.SheissobeautifulthatIcan’tlookdirectlyather.Istareatthewallandsay,“I’dlikeaDamselsapplication,please.”Iwaitforhertotellmethere’saweightlimitandthatIamfar,farbeyondit.

Iwaitforhertothrowherbeautifulheadbackandlaughhystericallybeforeshowingmethedoor.Afterall,theDamselsarehigh-profile.Inadditiontofootballandbasketballgames,theyentertainateverybigeventintown—grandopenings,parades,dedications,concerts.ButinsteadHeatherAlpernrummagesthroughadrawerandpullsouta

form.“Ourseasontechnicallystartedthissummer.Ifwedon’tloseanyone,thenexttryoutperiodisn’tuntilJanuary.”Isaytomyfeet,“Whatifyoudolosesomeone?”“We’llhaveauditions.We’llmakeanannouncementandpostflyers.”She

handsmetheapplication.“YoucanfillthisoutandbringitbacktomeandI’llkeepitonfile.Justmakesuretogetyourparents’permission.”Andthenshesmilesthisbeautiful,encouragingsmile,likeMariainTheSoundofMusic,andIfloatoutoftherelikeI’mfullofhelium.IbobandbouncelikeaballoonthroughthehallsfeelingasifI’mcarrying

theworld’sgreatestsecret.Youmaynotknowthisaboutme,butIlovetodance.Iamlookingatthefacesofeveryonepassingbyandwonderingwhatsecrets

they’rekeeping,whensomeoneslamsintome,asquare-headedboywithabig,ruddyface.

“Hey,”hesays.“Hey.”“Isittruefatgirlsgivebetterblowjobs?”“Idon’tknow.I’venevergottenablowjobfromafatgirl.”Peoplearepassingbyonallsides,andsomeofthemlaughatthis.Hiseyes

turncold,andthereitis—thehatredatotalstrangercanfeelforyou,eveniftheydon’tknowyou,simplybecausetheythinktheyknowyouorhatewhatyouare.“Ithinkyou’redisgusting.”Isay,“Ifit’sanyconsolation,Ithinkyouaretoo.”Hemutterssomethingthatsoundslikeandprobablyisfatwhore.Itdoesn’t

matterthatI’mavirgin.Ishouldhavehadsexathousandtimesbynowforalltheboyswho’vebeencallingmethissincefifthgrade.“Leaveheralone,Sterling.”Thisisfromagirlwithlong,swinginghairand

legsuptoherneck.BaileyBishop.IftheBaileyofnowisanythingliketheBaileyofthen,sheisearnest,popular,andlovesJesus.Sheisadorable.Everyonelovesher.Shewalksintoaroomexpectingpeopletolikeher,andtheydo,becausehowcouldyounotlikesomeonesothoroughlynice?“Hey,Libby.Idon’tknowifyourememberme…”Shedoesn’tlinkherarm

throughmine,butshemightaswell.Hervoicestillhasthesamelilttoit,everysentenceendingonahigh,happynote.Shealmostsoundsasifshe’ssinging.“Hey,Bailey.Irememberyou.”“I’mjustsogladyou’reback.”Andthenshethrowsherarmsaroundme,

andIaccidentallysuckinsomeofherhair,whichtasteslikeacrossbetweenpeachesandbubblegum.ExactlyhowyouthinkBaileyBishop’shairwouldtaste.Wepullapartandshestandstheregrinning,eyeswide,dimplesshining,and

everythingaboutheristoobright.Fiveyearsago,Baileywasmyfriend,asinanactualfriendandnotoneImadeup.Fiveyearsisalongtime.Webarelyhadanythingincommonbackthen,soI’mnotsurewhatwe’llhaveincommonnow.ButItellmyself,Benice.Thiscouldbetheonlyfriendyouwillevermake.Shecallsouttoagirlwalkingpast,andsaystome,“Iwantyoutomeet

Jayvee.Jayvee,thisisLibby.”Jayveesays,“Hiya.What’sshakin’?”Herhairiscutinaswingyblackbob,

andshe’swearingaT-shirtthatreads,MYREALBOYFRIENDISFICTIONAL.Baileyisbeaminglikealighthouse.“Jayveemovedheretwoyearsago

fromthePhilippines.”IwaitforhertotellJayveethisismyfirstyearbackatschoolafterbeingashut-in,butallshesaysis“Libby’snewtoo.”

FourthperiodisadvancedchemistrywithMonicaChapman.Scienceteacher.Wife.Andthewomanwhosleptwithmydad.Asarule,teachersareeasiertorecognizethanstudentsbecauseofthesethreethings:therearefewerofthemthanthereareofus;eventheyoungeronesdressolderthanwedo;andwehavelicensetostareatthemonadailybasis(i.e.,moretimeformetolearntheiridentifiers).NoneofthishelpsmewithChapman.I’veneverhadclasswithherbefore,

andeverythingaboutherisyoungandalsoordinary.Imeanyou’dhopethatthewomanyourdaddecidestocheatwithonyourmomissoremarkablethatevenapersonwhodoesn’trememberanyonewouldrecognizeher.Butthere’snothingaboutherthatstandsout.Whichmeansshecouldbeanywhere.Ichooseaseatattheback,bythewindow,andsomeonesitsdownnextto

me.There’sthislookpeoplegetwhentheyknowyouandwhentheyexpectyoutoknowthem,andhegivesmethisnow.“Hey,man,”hesays.“Hey.”Atsomepoint,thisclusterofgirlsbreaksapartandoneofthemwalkstothe

whiteboardatthefrontoftheroom.Shelooksaroundateveryone,introducesherself,seesme,andherfacefreezes,justforaninstant,beforesherememberstosmile.Aftereveryonesettles,MonicaChapmanstartslecturingaboutthedifferent

branchesofchemistry,andallIcanthinkaboutisthebranchshe’snotmentioning—theonethat’sresponsibleforheraffairwithmydad.

ThewayIfoundoutwasDusty.HewastheonewhosawthetextonDad’sphone.Itwasjustsittingthere,whereanyonecouldseeit.Dadhadwalkedaway,andDustywaslookingforthingstocollect—likeme,he’salwayscollectingthings—andlaterhesaidtome,“IthoughtMom’snamewasSarah.”“ItisSarah.”“Thenwho’sMonica?”Sothebastarddidn’tevenbothertochangehernameonthephone.Thereit

was,plainasday,Monica.Tomakemattersworse,itwasn’thisregularphone,butsomephonehemusthaveboughtjusttotalktoher.FiguringoutwhichMonicatookalittlemorework,butyoucantakemywordforit,it’sher.Rightnowshestartsinonphysicalchemistry,andIraisemyhand.“Doyouhaveaquestion,Jack?”Ithink,DoIever.IfIcangetthenextwordsoutofmymouth,itwillbea

miracle,becauseIfeellikemychestisstuffedintomythroat.“Actually,IjustwantedtotellyouwhatIknowaboutphysicalchemistry.”Theguynexttome—whoseemstobeDamarioRaines—nodsathisdesk,

andsomeofthegirlsturnaroundtoseewhatI’mgoingtosay.Theyareidenticaltoeachother,andIwonderiftheywanttolookexactlythesameoriftheyevenknowtheydo.They’reexpectingmetosaysomethingclever.Icanseeitonthem.Besides,nooneelseknowsaboutwhathappenedbetweenChapmanandmydad.Marcusdoesn’tevenknow,andIwanttokeepitthatway.“Goahead,Jack.”Chapman’svoicesoundsperfectlynormal,breezyand

clipped,withahintofMichiganormaybeWisconsin.“Physicalchemistryappliestheoriesofphysicstostudychemicalsystems,

whichincludereactionkinetics,surfacechemistry,molecularquantummechanics,thermodynamics,andelectrochemistry.”Ismilethisdazzlingsmile,onethatcompeteswiththeoverheadlightsand

thesunbeatinginthewindows.Iamgoingtoblindherwiththisfuckingsmilesoshewon’teverbeabletoseemydadagain.Agirltwochairsoverisgrinningatme,chininherhands,buttheotherslookconfusedandalittledisappointed.TheGuyWhoSeemstoBeDamariosaystohisdesk,“Man.”AndIcantellinthatonewordwhataletdownIam.“Actually,Ithinkthat’smyfavorite,electrochemistry.There’sjust

somethingaboutagoodchemicalreaction,amIright?”AndthenIwinkatMonicaChapman,who—forthenexttwentyseconds—goesspeechless.Assoonasshecantalkagain,shegivesusapopquizto“judgeour

aptitude,”butreallyIthinkshe’sdoingittomesswithme,becauseshegradesthematherdeskandthensays,“JackMasselin.Passtheseback.”

Anditison.Igetoutofmyseatandwalktothefrontoftheroomandtakethequizzes

fromher.AndthenIstandthereforaminute,tryingtofigureoutwhattodo.TheclassislookingatmeasIlookatthem.TherearefourkidswhoaredefiniteIDs.Three,I’mfairlysureIdon’tknowandamnotsupposedtoknow(butI’mnotcompletely,totallysure).Eightareinthegrayzone—betterknownasthedangerzone.Now,Icanmarchupanddowntheaisles,tryingtomatchthenamesof

peopleIknowwiththefaces.Icantakealltheshitthatwouldbethrownatmeassoonasit’sclearthatIdon’tknowwhoeveryoneis.Prick.Dumbass.OrIcandowhatI’mdoingnow—holdupthestackofpapersandsay,“Who

herereallywantstoseewhatyougot?”Itwasapopquiz,afterall,soit’snotlikeanyofuspreparedforit.Forgoodmeasure,Iflipthroughthepages,andmostofthegradesareC,D,C-,C.Asexpected,nooneraisesahand.“WhowouldrathertakethisopportunitytopromiseMrs.Chapmanyou’lldobetterfromhereonout?”Almostallhandsgoup.Thesehandsareattachedtoarmsthatareattachedtotorsosthatareattachedtonecksthatareattachedtofaces,whichswimatme,foreignandunrecognizable.It’slikebeingatacostumepartyeverysingledaywhereyou’retheonlyonewithoutacostume,butyou’restillexpectedtoknowwhoeveryoneis.“Ifyou’reinterested,I’mgoingtosetthemrighthere.”Idropthemontoan

emptydeskatthefrontandtakemyseat.

Whenthebellrings,MonicaChapmansays,“Jack,I’dlikeawordwithyou.”IwalkrightonoutthedoorlikeIdon’thear,andgodirectlytotheschool

office,whereItellthemIneedtochangetotheotheradvancedchemistryclass,eventhoughit’staughtbyMr.Vernon,whoisatleastonehundredanddeafinoneear.Thesecretarystartsinwith“I’mnotsurewecanswitchyoubecausewe’llhavetoreorganizepartofyourschedule…”Foraminute,I’mtemptedtosayforgetit,I’llstayrightwhereIam.Believe

me,I’mmorethanhappytotormentMonicaChapmanforasemester.ButIthinkaboutmydadlosinghishair,abouthowpaper-thinthechemolefthim,abouthowfrailhelooked,likehemightcrumbleawayinfrontofus.Irememberwhatitfeltliketoalmostlosehim.There’sapartofmethatstillhateshim,thatmaybewillalwayshatehim,buthe’smydad,afterall,andIdon’twanttohatehimanymorethanIalreadydo.Besides,Iactuallylikechemistry,andwhyshouldIruinthatformyself?Ileanonthecounter.IgivethesecretaryasmilethatsaysI’vesavedthisup

foryouandonlyyou.“I’msorryifit’sinconvenient,andIdon’twanttobea

painintheass,butifithelps,IknowwecangetMrs.Chapmantosignoffonthis.”

Idecidetoskiplunch.Thethingthatcomesafteritisgym,andIdon’tthinkthereisaheavygirlonthisplanet,nomatterhowsecuresheis,whodoesn’tdreadgym.Inthegrandschemeofthings,todaycouldbeworse.Noone’sbannedme

fromtheplayground.SofarI’veonlybeenmooedatandlaughedatfourorfivetimes,andstaredatacouplehundredtimes.Alotofpeoplehaven’tlookedtwiceatme,andalotofthemaretreatingmelikeanyoneelse.I’vemadeatleastone,maybetwo,potentialfriends.Ihaven’thadasinglepanicattack.ButthehardestthingissomethingIdidn’texpect—seeingpeopleIusedto

know,peopleIgrewupwith,andknowingthatwhileIsatinmyhouse,theygotolderandwenttoschoolandmadefriendsandhadlives.It’slikeI’mtheonlyonewhostopped.SoIdon’tfeellikeeating.InsteadIsitoutsidethecafeteriaintheparkinglot

andreadmyfavoritebook,WeHaveAlwaysLivedintheCastlebyShirleyJackson.It’saboutagirlnamedMaryKatherineBlackwood.Mosteveryoneinherfamilyisdead,andsheliveswithhersister,holedupawayfromsociety,trappedinherhouse,notbyherweightbutbyahorriblethingshedidonceuponatime.Thepeopleofhervillagetelllegendsaboutherandareafraidofherandsometimessneakuptothehousetotrytocatchaglimpseofher.I’mprettysureIunderstandMaryKatherineinawaynooneelsedoes.Ireadforafewminutes,andthenIclosemyeyesandtiltmyheadback.It’s

awarm,brightday,andeventhoughIhaven’tbeenhouseboundinawhile,Idon’tthinkI’llevergetenoughofsunshine.

GymisworsethanIimagined.

Ofcourseit’sSethPowellwhosays,“There’sthisgameIreadabout.”Ormaybehesawitonline,hecan’tremember.“It’scalledFatGirlRodeo.”Andhe’slaughinglikeit’sthefunniestdamnthinghe’severheard.He

laughssohardhealmostfallsoffthebleachers.“Andwhatyoudoisyougouptosomefatgirlandyouthrowyourselfaroundherlikeyou’reridingabull…”Heleansforward,coveringhisface,andthenhekicksthebleachersthreetimeslikeit’sgoingtohelphimgethisbreath.Whenhefinallylooksupagain,hiseyeshavegonesquintyandwet.“Andyouholdonastightasyoucan,reallysqueezetheshitoutofher…”Hedoublesoverandrocksbackandforth.IlookatKamandKamlooksatmelike,Whatadumbmotherfucker.Sethsitsup,shakingallover.“Andwhoever…”(Theselastwordsarethe

hardesttogetout.)“…holdsonlongest…”(He’sbarelybreathing.)“…wins.”Isay,“Winswhat?”“Thegame.”“Yeah,butwhatdotheywin?”“Thegame,man.Theywinthegame.”“Butisthereaprize?”“Whatdoyoumeanaprize?”Sethisprettystupid,ifyouwanttoknowthetruth.IsighlikeI’mcarrying

theworld’sburdens,likeI’mfreakin’Atlas.“Ifyougotothestatefairandyouplaytheshootinggallery,theygiveyou,

like,astuffedpandaorsomesuchshit.”

“WhenIwaseight.”SethrollshiseyesatKam.Irakemyhandsthroughthelionfro,makingitbiggerandbadder.Italk

very,veryslowly,thewaymydaddoestoforeigners.“Sowhenyouwenttotheshootinggalleryatageeight,theygaveyousomethingwhenyouwon.”Kamtakesaswigoftheflaskhealwayscarries,buthedoesn’tofferusany.

Hesnorts.“Likeheeverwon.”Sethislookingatme,buthereachesoutandslapsKamonthesideofhis

head.I’llsaythisforhim,he’sgotgoodaim.Sethsquintsatme.“What’syourpoint?”“Whatdoyougetifyouwintherodeo?”“Youwin.”Heholdsuphishandslikewhatmoreisthere.Itcouldgoonthiswayforhours,butKamsays,“Losingbattle,Mass.Letit

go.”IlookatKamnow.“HaveyouheardofFatGirlRodeo?”Hestands,takesanotherswigfromtheflask,andforasecondIthinkhe’s

abouttoofferittome.Thenhecapsitandshovesitbackintohispocket.“Ihavenow.”Andsuddenlyhe’soutofthebleachersandonthegroundandjogging

towardsomegirl,wholookslikeshe’swearinganinnertubeunderhershirt.Idon’trecognizeher,butofcourseIdon’trecognizeanyone.Exceptfortheinnertube,shecouldbemyownmother,forallIknow.Seth’sidentifierisn’tthefactthathe’stheonlyblackkidinschoolwitha

Mohawk.Hisidentifierishisstupidlaugh.Becausehe’sanidiot,he’salwayslaughing,andI’dknowthatlaughanywhere.WithKam,it’sthefactthathehasthiswhite-blondhairthatmakeshimlooklikeanalbino.He’stheonlypersonIknowwithhairthatcolor.Ihavenoideawhothisgirlwiththeinnertubeis,andthewholetimeI’m

watching,I’mthinkingKam’snotreallygoingtodoit.He’sjusttryingtomakeusthinkhe’sgoingtodoit.Andthenhe’sdoingit.He’swrappedaroundthegirllikecellophane,andat

firstyoucantellmaybeshe’shappybecauseit’sDaveKaminski,butthelongerheholdson,themoreupsetshegets,tillitlookslikeshe’sgoingtostartscreamingorcryingorboth.Istandup.Iwanttotellhimtostop.Seth’seyesarefixedonDaveandthe

girl,andhisjawgoesslackbeforehestartspoundingonhiskneegoing,“Ohshit,ohshit,ohshit.”Andthenhe’slaughingandsayssomethingtomethatsoundslike“Youknowshewantsit.”AndthewholetimeI’mthinkingtomyself,Saysomething,douchebag.

ButIdon’t.Andrightbeforeshelosesit,Kamletshergo.Thenhebreaksintoavictorylaparoundthetrack.“Fifteenseconds,”Sethsaysunderhisbreath.“It’sagoddamnworld’s

record.”

LibbyStroutisfat.Iamlockedinthebathroomafterschool,blackSharpiesqueakingagainst

theugly,uglywall.Thereisanunusedtamponlyingonthefloorandanemptylipglossinthesink,eventhoughthetrashcanisliterallyrightthere.AsignononeofthestallssaysOUTOFORDERbecausesomeonedropped(shoved)amathbookinthetoilet.Itsmellslikeairfreshenerandcigarettesinhere,amongotherthings.Thatoldsayingaboutgirlsbeingsugarandspiceandeverythingnice?Notsotrue.Allyouhavetodoisvisitthethird-floorbathroomofMVBHighSchoolinAmos,Indiana,tofigurethatout.Someoneispoundingonthedoor.IreachuponearmandwriteinthicklettersaslargeasIcansothat

everyonewillsee.LibbyStroutisfat.Fatandugly.Shewillnevergetlaid.Noonewilleverloveher.Icatchsightofmyselfinthemirror,andmyfaceisthecolorofbeets,the

onesMomusedtocall“nicevegetables,”eventhoughsheknewtherewasnothingniceaboutthem.Momalwaysdidthat—madethingsnicerthantheywere.LibbyStroutissofattheyhadtodestroyherhousetogetherout.Wordforword,thesearethethingsIoverheardCarolineLushampand

KendraWusayingaboutmeingym,astheothergirlsstoodaroundandlistened.Andlaughed.Iaddinoneortwootherlines,themeanestthingsIcan

thinkof,sothatIdon’thavetohearitfromanyoneelse.Iwriteitsotheydon’thaveto.Thisway,thereisnothingtheycansayaboutmethatIhaven’tsaidmyself.LibbyStroutisthefattestteeninAmerica.LibbyStroutisaliar.Istepback.Thesearethetruestwordsofall,anduntilIseethemI’mokay.But

somethingaboutseeingthemthere,likesomeoneelsewrotethem,makesmecatchmybreath.Toofar,Libbs,Ithink.Yes,I’mfat.Yes,theyhadtopartiallydestroymyhouse.Maybenoboywilllovemeorwanttotouchmeever,eveninadarkroom,

evenafteranapocalypsewhenalltheskinnygirlshavebeenwipedofftheearthbysomehorribleplague.MaybeonedayIcanbethinnerthanIamnowandhaveaboyfriendwholovesme,butI’llstillbealiar.I’llalwaysbealiar.BecauseinaboutthreeminutesI’mgoingtoopenthedoorandwalkdown

thathallandtellmyselfwhatdidIexpect,Iknewthiswouldhappen,itwasnevergoingtogodifferentlythanthis,theydon’tmatter,highschooldoesn’tmatter,noneofthismatters,it’swhat’sinsidethatcounts.It’swhatliesbeyondthis.Allthosethingstheyliketotellyou.Besides,Istoppedfeelingalongtimeago.Exceptthisisalietoo.

Sixtysecondslater:IwalkoutofthebathroomandbumprightintoagirlalmostasbigasIam.

She’sbawlinghereyesout,andmyfirstinstinctistogetoutofherway.Shesays,“Whatwereyoudoinginthere?Didyoulockthedoor?”Actually,sheshoutsit.“Itmusthavegottenstuck.Areyouokay?”Italksoftlyandcalmly,hoping

she’llfollowmylead.She’scryingandhiccuppinghard,andittakesheraminute.“Bastards.”This

isalittlelessloud.Idon’thavetoaskwhat,onlywho.Icanimaginebythesizeofherwhat’s

happened.“Who?”Iask,eventhoughIfeellikeIdon’tknowanyoneatthisschool.“DaveKaminskiandhisbastardfriends.”Shepushesbymetothesink,

whereshebendsover,washingherface,wettingdownherhair,whichiswoundintightblackringlets.She’swearingaNirvanashirtandoneofthosecandynecklacesyoueat.Igrabapapertowelandhandittoher.“Thanks.”She

patsatherface.“DaveKaminskigrabbedme,andwhenItoldhimtoletgohewouldn’t.”TheDaveKaminskiIknewwasascrawnytwelve-year-oldwithwhitehair

whooncestolehisdad’sJohnnieWalkerandbroughtittoschool.“Wherearethey?”“Bleachers.”She’sstillhiccupping,butnotasbad.Sheglancesupatthewall

andstartsreading.“Whatthe…”Myeyesfollowhers.“Iknow,right?Lookonthebrightside.Atleastthat’s

notyournameonthewall.”

Kam’sstillrunninglapswhenthesetwogirlscomewalkingoutoftheschool.Oneofthemhangsback,buttheothermarchesacrossthefootballfield.Sheglancesupatusforasecond,andoureyesmeet.AndthensheheadsstraightforKam.Atfirst,hedoesn’tseeher,whichisamiraclebecausethisgirlisenormous.

ButthenIcantellheseesher,andhepicksupspeed,laughingandsprintingaway.Sethissittingstraightup,likeadogwatchingasquirrel.Underhisbreathhegoes,“Whatthehell…”Justasthegirlgetsclose,Kamtakesofflikehe’sonfire,andthegirlruns

afterhim.I’monmyfeetnowbecauseit’sthebestdamnthingI’veeverseen.Imean,sheisflying.Sethstartsclappinglikeafool.“Ohshit.”He’sholleringatKamand

laughinghimselfblue,kickingandstompingatthebleachers,andthewholetimeIamrootingforthegirl.“Run!”Iyell,andI’myellingittoher,thoughnooneknowsit.“Run!Run!

Run!”Finally,Kamhurdlesthefenceandracesoffdownthestreetawayfromus.

Likeafuckinggazelle,thegirlhurdlesthefencerightafterhim,andtheonlythingthatstopsherfromcatchinghimisatruckthatgoesbarrelingpastatjustthatmoment.ShestandsonthestreetandstaresafterKam,andthenshewalks,notruns,backtowardtheschool.Shecrossesthefootballfield,andasshewalkshereyesareonmeagain.Shedoesn’tturnherhead,justfollowsmewithhereyes,andIamtellingyousheispissed.

SIX YEARSEARLIER

Iwalkontotheplayground,andMosesHuntsaystome,“Hey,ifitisn’tFlabbyStout.What’sup,Flabby?”Isay,“You’reflabby.”Eventhoughheisn’t,butthenneitheramI.Hedoesasidewayslookattheboysgroupedaroundhim,theoneswhohang

onhiseverymoveallthetime,evenwhenhe’sjustmakingarmfartsandrepeatingtheswearwordshisbrotherstaughthim.Hiseyescomeslidingbacktome,andhe’sabouttosaysomething,andIknowwhateveritisIdon’twanttohearitbecausenoonecouldsayanythingnicewithamouththatlookslikeitswallowedawholelemon,seedsandall.Heopensthatpursed-uplemonmouthandsays,“Noonewilleverloveyou.

Becauseyou’refat.”Istaredownatmylegsandstomach.Iholdoutmyarms.IfI’mfat,it’snews

tome.Plump,maybe.Alittlechubby.ButthisisthewayI’vealwaysbeen.Itakeagood,hardlookatMosesandtheotherboysandthegirlsoverbytheswings.AsfarasI’mconcerned,Idon’tlookthatmuchfatterthananyofthem.“Idon’tthinkIam.”“Wellthen,you’renotonlyfat,you’redumb.”Theboysfalldownwith

laughter.Moses’sfacebunchesuplikeafist,andheopenshismouthsowideitlookslikeallthepigeonsinAmoscouldnestthere.“Gohome,FlabbyStout.Thesuncan’tshinewhenyoucomeout…”He’ssingingittothetuneof“LullabyandGoodnight.”“You’resobigyoublockthemoon.Gohome,Flabby,gotoyourroom…”Ithink,You’retheonethat’sdumb.AndImovepasthim.I’maimingforthe

swings,whereIseeBaileyBishopalongwithahundredothergirls.Moses

stepsinfrontofme.“Gohome,FlabbyStout…”Isteptheotherway,andheblocksmypathagain.SonowImovetowardthe

junglegym,whereIcansitinpeace,buthesays,“Ican’tletyoudothat.Youmightbreakit.”“Iwon’tbreakit.I’vebeenonitbefore.”“Butyoumight.Yourflabhasprobablycrackedthefoundation.Thenext

timeyougoonit,Ibetthatwholething’llcollapse.Maybetheplaygroundtoo.You’reprobablycrackingitrightnowjuststandinghere.Youprobablykilledyourmombysittingonher.”Theboysdieoverandover.Oneofthemrollsalongtheground,hootinghisfaceoff.I’mnotastallasMosesis,butIstaredirectlyintohisdark,soullesseyes.All

IcanthinkisForthefirsttimeinmylife,Iknowwhatit’sliketohavesomeonehateme.Icanseethehateintherelikeit’slodgedinhispupils.Ispendtherestofrecessstandingagainstthewallontheedgeofthe

playgroundwonderingwhatI’vedonetoMosesHunttomakehimhatemeandknowingthatwhateveritis,there’snocomingbackfromit.It’smystomachthattellsmeHewillneverlikeyounomatterwhatyoudo,nomatterhowthinyouare,nomatterhowniceyoutrytobetohim.Thisisaterrifyingfeeling.It’sthefeelingofsomethingturning.Ofcomingtoacornerandgoingarounditandseeingthatthestreetaheadisdarkanddesertedorfilledwithwilddogs,butyoucan’tgoback,onlyforward,rightintothemiddleofthepack.Ihearashriek,andmyfriendBaileyBishopjumpsofftheswingin

midflight,legsreachingfortheearth,hairsailingforthesky,brightgoldasthesunrise.Iwavebutshedoesn’tseeme.Doesn’tshenoticeI’mmissing?Iwaveagain,

butshe’stoobusyrunning.Ithink,IfIwereBaileyBishop,I’druntoo.Shehaslegsaslongaslightpoles.IfIwereBaileyBishop,Iwouldn’tevenlookformetoseewhereI’dgoneoffto.Iwouldjustrunandrunandrun.

NOW

Thegirl’snameisIrisEngelbrecht.ThesearethethingsI’velearnedinthepastfiveminutes:She’sbeenheavysincebirth,thankstoadoublewhammyofhypothyroidismandsomethingcalledCushing’ssyndrome.Herparentsaredivorced,shehastwooldersisters,andeveryoneinherfamilyisoverweight.“Youneedtotelltheprincipal.”Irisshakesherhead.“No.”Wearebackinsidetheschool,justthetwoofus.I’mtryingtoleadustoward

themainhall,towardwheretheprincipal’sofficeis,butIrisisdraggingherfeet.“I’llgowithyou.”“Idon’twanttomakeitworse.”“WhatmakesitworseisDaveKaminskithinkinghecandothattoyou.”“I’mnotlikeyou.”AndwhatshemeansisI’mnotbravelikeyou.“ThenI’lljustgo.”Iwalkawayfromher.“Don’t.”Shecatchesuptome.“Imean,thanksforchasingafterhim,butI

wantthewholethingtogoaway,andit’snotgoingawayifItell.Itdoestheoppositeofgoingaway.ItgetssobigIhavetolookatitallthetime,andIdon’twantto.It’sthefirstdayoftheschoolyear.”AndagainIcanhearwhatsheisn’tsaying:Idon’twantthisthingtofollowmethewholeyear,evenifI’vegoteveryrighttokickhisteethin.

Mycounselor,RachelMendes,meetsmeatthepark.Fortwoofthepastthreeyears,I’veseenhereveryday.BackwhenIwasinthehospital,shewasthefirstperson,otherthanmydad,whospoketomelikeIwasaregulargirl.Latershe

becamemytutorandalsomycaregiver,theonewhostayedwithmewhilemydadwenttowork.Nowshe’smybestfriendandwemeethereonceaweek.Shesays,“Whathappened?”“Boys.Idiots.People.”Thereusedtobeazoointheheartofthepark,butitwasshutdownin1986

afterthebeartriedtoeataman’sarm.Allthat’sleftofitisthiswidestonebench,whichusedtobepartofthebear ’shabitat.Wesitonthatandlookouttowardthegolfcourse,andI’mfumingsomuchI’mworriedthetopofmyheadisgoingtoblastrightoff.“Thisboydidacruelthing,andthepersonhedidittodoesn’twanttospeak

up.”“Isthepersonindanger?”“No.Theboyprobablythoughtwhathedidwasharmless,butheshouldn’t

havedoneitandheshouldn’tgetawaywithit.”“Wecan’tfightanotherperson’sbattles,nomatterhowmuchwewantto.”Butwecanchasethebastardswhoterrorizethemdownthestreet.Ithink

howmuchsimplerlifewaswhenIcouldn’tleavethehouse.ItwasjustSupernaturalrerunsalldaylong,reading,reading,reading,andspyingontheneighborboysfrommywindow.“How’stheanxiety?”“I’mmad,butI’mbreathing.”“How’stheeating?”“Ididn’tstress-eat,buttheday’snotover.”Andthere’sanentireschoolyear

lefttoexperience.EventhoughI’vespentalmostthreeyearseatingnutritiouslyandboringlywithoutahiccup,RachelandmydoctorsareworriedImightendupspiralingintosomewild,bottomlessbingebecauseI’msodeprived.Whattheydon’tunderstandisitwasn’taboutthefood.FoodwasneverpartoftheWhy.Notdirectly,atleast.“Here’stheworstthingofit,”Isay.“YouknowhowfarI’vecomeandI

knowhowfarI’vecome,buteveryoneelsejustseesmeforhowlargeIamorwhereIwasyearsago,notwhoIamnow.”“You’llshowthem.Ifanyonecan,it’syou.”Suddenly,Ican’tsitonthisbenchanylonger.Thishappenssometimes—

afterallthosemonthsofbeingmotionless,Istillgetovercomewiththeneedtomovemybody.Isay,“Let’stwirl.”AndthisiswhatIlovemostaboutRachel.Shejustgetsrightupandstarts

twirling,noquestionsasked,nofearofwhatanyoneelsemightthink.

ChristmasEve.I’mfour.MygrandmothergivesMomandmethesegiantmatchingChristmasskirts—oneingreen,oneinred.They’reugly,buttheytwirl,andsowewearthemstraightthroughNewYear’s,twirlingalltheway.LongafterIoutgrewtheskirt,wetwirledforbirthdays,Mother’sDay,anythingworthcelebrating.RachelandIspintillwe’redizzyandthenfallbackdownontothebench.I

sneak-checkmypulsewithoutherseeingbecausethere’sgoodbreathlessandbadbreathless.IwaituntilIfeelmypulsegosteady,tillIknowI’msafe,andIsay,“Doyouknowwhathappenedtothebear?Theonethatwashere?”Ican’tblamehimfortryingtotakesomeone’sarmoff.Imean,theman

reachedintohiscage,andthatcagewasallthebearhadintheworld.“ThenewsreportsaidtheysenthimovertoCincinnatiforsocialization.”“Whatdoyoureallythinkhappened?”“Ithinktheyshothim.”

Onthewallaboveme,mygreat-great-something-grandfatherstaresatmefromoutofagiantframe,sternandwild-eyed.Thestoriespainthimasasaintlymanwholivedtocarvetoys.Ifthey’retobebelieved,hewasakindofselflessIndianaSantaClaus.Butinhisphoto,heisonescaryoldsonofabitch.HefixesthosewildeyesonmeasIleaveavoicemailforKam:I’msitting

hereatgoodoldMasselin’sToys,wishingyouwellonyourjourneyhome.Letmeknowifyouneedmoneyforaplaneticketback.IhangupandsaytoGreat-Great-Something-Grandfather,“Don’tjudgea

mantillyou’vewalkedamileinhisshoes.”I’minthestoreofficereturningemails,checkinginventory,payingbills,

workIcoulddoinmysleep.Masselin’sToyshasbeeninourfamilyforfivegenerations.It’ssurvivedtheGreatDepressionandraceriotsandthedowntownexplosionof1968andtherecession,anditwillprobablybeherelongaftermydadisgoneandI’mgone,longafterthenexticeage,whentheonlyothersurvivorsarecockroaches.Sincebirth,reliable,dutifulMarcushasbeentheoneexpectedtotakethebatonfromDad.ThisisbecauseforwhateverreasoneveryoneexpectsGreatThingsfromJack.ButIknowsomethingtheydon’t.Thiswillbemeoneday,livinginthistown,runningthisstore,marrying,havingkids,talkingloudlytoforeigners,cheatingonmywife.BecausewhatelseamIpossiblyequippedfor?Myphonebuzzesandit’sKam,butbeforeIcananswer,amanwalksin

(dark,wiryhair,darkeyebrows,paleskin,Masselin’sstoreshirt).Mydadclearshisthroat.Thechemohaslefthimwithhearingdamagein

oneearandathroatthatconstantlyneedsclearing.Hesays,“Whydidyouquit

advancedchemistry?”Howthefuckdoesheknowthis?Itonlyhappenedacoupleofhoursago.“Ididn’t.”I’lltellyouhowheknowsthis.MonicaChapmanprobablywhispereditinhis

earastheyweredoingitinhiscar.AndbeforeIcanstopthem,alltheseimagesgoracingthroughmyheadof

primevalnakedbodyparts,someofthembelongingtomydad.Hegrabsachair,andashesitsdownIlookawaybecauseIcan’tgetthese

imagesoutofmymind.“That’snotwhatIheard.”AsIwasbangingMonicaChapmanalloverthechemlab.AsIwasbangingheragainstyourlocker,ontopofyourlunchtable,onthedeskofeveryteacheryouwilleverhave.Isay,maybetooloudly,“Ijustchangedtotheotherclass.”“Whatwaswrongwiththeclassyouwerein?”Andthereitis.Imean,hemustbekidding,right?Becausethere’snoway

he’sactuallycontinuingtoaskmeaboutthis.Ican’tavoidit.Ihavetolookhimintheeye—somethingthatmakesmeeven

moreuncomfortablethanthisconversation.“Let’sjustsayIhaveaproblemwiththeteacher.”Dad’sshouldersstiffen,andheknowsIknow,anditisawkwardashellin

there.SuddenlyIdon’tgiveashitabouttheemailsortheinventory.AllIcareaboutisleavingbecausewhywouldMonicaChapmantellhimanythingifshewasn’tstillsleepingwithhim?

Thisskinnykidwithbigearssitsatthekitchentabledrinkingmilkoutofoneofthewhiskeyglassesmyparentskeeponthebar.Eventhoughhe’sjustakid,thewayhe’ssittingmakesmethinkofanoldmanwho’sseenkindertimesandbetterdays.Hispurseisonthetable.Igrabaglass,pourmyselfsomejuice,andsay,“Isthisseattaken?”He

pushesthechairouttomewithhisfootandIsit.Iholdoutmyglassandheclinkshisagainstmineandwedrinkinsilence.Icanhearthetickofthegrandfatherclockfromdownthehall.We’rethefirstoneshome.Finally,Dustysays,“Whyarepeoplesoshitty?”AtfirstIthinkheknowsaboutmyconversationwithDad,oraboutme,

aboutthepersonIamatschool,butthenmyeyesgotothepurse,whereoneoftheugliestwordsintheEnglishlanguageisscrawledacrossonesideofitinblackmarker.Thestraphasbeenslicedintwo.Myeyesgobacktomylittlebrother.“Peopleareshittyforalotofreasons.

Sometimesthey’rejustshittypeople.Sometimespeoplehavebeenshittytothemand,eventhoughtheydon’trealizeit,theytakethatshittyupbringingand

gooutintotheworldandtreatothersthesameway.Sometimesthey’reshittybecausethey’reafraid.Sometimestheychoosetobeshittytoothersbeforeotherscanbeshittytothem.Soit’slikeself-defensiveshittiness.”WhichIknowplentyabout.“Who’sbeingshittytoyou?”Dustyholdsuphishandandshakeshishead,whichtellsmeno,wewon’t

speakofdetails.“Whywouldbeingafraidmakesomeoneactshitty?”“Becausemaybesomeonedoesn’tlikewhoheis,butthenhere’sthisother

kidwhoknowsexactlywhoheisandseemsprettydamnfearless.”Iglanceatthepurse.“Well,thatcanbeintimidatingandeventhoughitshouldn’t,itcanmakethatfirstkidfeelevenworseabouthimself.”“Eveniftheotherkidisn’ttryingtomakeanyonefeelworse,he’sjustbeing

himself?”“Exactly.”“That’sshitty.”“IsthereanythingIcando?”“Youjustdon’tbeshitty.”“Ican’tpromiseanythingexceptthatI’llneverbeshittytoyou,little

brother.”Wedrinkliketwooldcomrades,andafterawhileIsay,“Youknow,IbetI

couldfixthatbagforyou.Orevenbuildyouanewone.Onethat’sindestructible.”Heshrugs.“I’mbetteroffwithoutit.”Andthewayhesaysitmakesmewanttobuyhimeverygoddamnpursein

theworldandstartcarryingonemyselfoutofsolidarity.“WhatifIbuildyousomethingelse,then?What’sonethingyou’vealways

wanted?Sky’sthelimit.Heart’sdesire.”“ALegorobot.”“Onethatcandoyourhomeworkforyou?”Heshakeshishead.“Nah,I’vegotthatcovered.”IleanbackinmychairandrubmyjawlikeI’mdeepinthought.“Okay,you

probablywantonethatcandoyourchores.”“Uh-uh.”“Maybeadrone,then?”“Iwantonethatcanbemyfriend.”It’slikeakicktothegut.Ialmostloseitrightthere,butinsteadInod,rubmy

jaw,emptymyglass.“Consideritdone.”

Afterdinner,DadandIsitonthecouchandIshowhimthemostrecentDamselsvideo,filmedtwoweeksagoatafestivaloverinIndianapolis.Sequinsflashing,stadiumlightsblaring,crowdcheering.Allthatcolor.Allthatlife.I’mnotsureanyoneelseonearthappreciatesitasmuchasIdo.Hesays,“Areyousureaboutthis?”“No.ButI’mauditioninganyway.Youcan’tprotectmefromeverything.IfI

fallonmyface,Ifallonmyface,butatleastI’vedoneit.”Ihandhimtheapplication,whichheflipsthrough.Hereachesforthepen

thatliesonthecoffeetableandsignshisname.Ashehandsitback,hesays,“Youknow,havingyououtintheworldagainisharderthanIthought.”

I’minthebasement,whichislikeawarpedversionofSanta’sworkshop,clutteredwithcarsanddumptrucks,Mr.PotatoHeads,walkie-talkies,andallthingsFisher-Price.Discardedtoys,butotherstufftoo—carparts,motorcycleparts,motors,fragmentsoflawnmowersandappliances.AnythingIcanturnintosomethingelse.Someprojectsarefinished,butmostareworksinprogress,thegutspulledout,pieceseverywhere.ThisiswhereItakethingsapartandputthembacktogetherinnewandstupefyingways.ThewayIwishIcoulddowithmyself.Thephonebuzzesandit’sKam.“IranallthewaytoCenterville,man.”Ilaughthelaughofsomeonebraveandmanly.“Didthemeangirlscare

you?”“Shutup.Shewassofuckingfast.”“Areyouokay?Doyouneedtotalkaboutit?”IusethevoiceKam’smom

useswhenshe’sspeakingtohislittlesister,theonewho’salwayscryingandslammingdoors.“That’sit,dude.Thegoldenring.”“What?”“Her.She’stheprize.Oratleast,thegoal.Whoevercanholdontothatone,

wins.”“Winswhat?”ButIalreadyknowwhathe’sgoingtosay.“FatGirlRodeo.”Thewallsoftheworkshopstarttocloseinaroundme.“Mass?”

“MaybeI’mnotsointothisgame.”“Whatdoyoumeanyou’renotintoit?”ImeanIdon’twanttohavethisconversationbecauseIdon’tlikewherethis

isgoing.“Itjustseemskindoflame.Imean,dude,Sethcameupwithit.”Whenin

doubt,always,alwaysthrowSethunderthebus.“Hedidn’tcomeupwithit.Hetoldusaboutit.Adifferentanimalaltogether.

Besides,it’sfuckinghilarious.What’swrongwithyou?Shealmostranmeover.”“Seth’samoron.”MorebusthrowingasItrytothinkofawaytostopthis

beforeitendsinthehumiliationofeveryheavygirlinschool.Theydon’tdeserveit.ThegirlwhohurdledthatfencelikeagazelleandchasedKamdownthestreetdoesn’tdeserveit.Isay,“Shedoesn’tdeserveit.”“Jesus,youmadfucker.It’slikeyouwanttotakehertoprom.ShouldIorder

thelimonow?”“I’mjustsayingwecanmakebetteruseofourfreetimesenioryear.Have

youseenthefreshmengirls?”Whenindoubt,mentiongirls.“Sincewhenareyousuchapussy?”Istoptalking.Myheartpoundslikeadrum.Saysomething,douchebag.“We’redoingthiswithorwithoutyou,Mass.”FinallyIgo,“Whatever,man.Dowhatyouwant.”“Thankssomuch,Iwill.Aslongaswehaveyourapproval.”“Dick.”“Douche.”Ourpetnamesforeachother.Thegroundbetweenusfeelsalittle

moresolid,buttherestoftheworldshakes,likeit’sbuiltonahighwiremilesabovetheearth.

WhatIStandtoLoseifITellMyFriendstoFuckOff

byJackMasselin

1.KamandSeth.Theymaynotbethegreatestfriendsintheworld,butthey’retheonlyonesIcanreliablyrecognizeonasemiconsistentbasis.Maybeit’sbecauseI’veknownthemlongerthananyoneelse,ormaybeit’sbecausetheiridentifiersaresoeasytopickoutinacrowd.Forwhateverreason,theystick.WhichisprobablywhyIbecamefriendswiththeminthefirstplace.Imaginemovingtoatownwhereyouonlyknowtwopeopleandwillonlyeverknowthesesametwopeople,nomatterhowmanyotherpeopleyoumeet.

2.ThecarefullyconstructedworldI’vebuiltformyselfwithinthewallsofMartinVanBurenHighSchool.IdidnotgettobeJackMasselinbypissingpeopleoff.AndeventhoughImaynotalwayslikeJackMasselin,Ineedhim.Withouthim,I’mjustsomescrewed-upkidwithascrewed-upfamilyandaquestionablefuture.AndifIknowanythingabouthighschool,it’sthis:ifyougivepeopleanexcuse,theywillfeedyoutothewolves.(LukeRevis,I’mlookingatyou.)

Soyeah.

3.Me.I’drathernotloseme.

Ilieonmybed—notthesamebedIspenttwenty-fourhoursadayon,backwhenIcouldn’tleavethehouse,butanewoneweboughtafterIlostsomeweight.Ipulloutmyheadphonesandfindthesong“AllRightNow.”Iknowitfromseasonone,episodesixofSupernatural.It’sattheveryendoftheepisode,whenDeantellsSamhewisheshecouldhavelivedanormallife.AnormallifeiswhatI’vewantedforaslongasIcanremember.It’swhatI

triedtocreateinmymind,frommybed.WhenDean-across-the-streetlearnedtoskateboard,Ilearnedwithhim,andwewouldraceeachotherforhours.WhenDeanandSamplayedbaseballintheyard,Iplayedtoo,andwhentheybuiltapotatocannoninthedriveway,Ihelpedspray-paintitandshootpotatoesovertheroof.Thefourofushungoutintheirtreehouse,andwheneverCastiel’sbigbrotherslefthimbehind,Itookhimforicecreamandtoldhimstories.Afterward,Iwouldgobacktomyhouseandeatdinneratthediningroomtablewithmydadandmymom,because,ofcourse,itwasallimagined,whichmeantIcouldmakeitanythingIwantedittobe.JustlikeIcouldmakemeanythingIwantedtobe,includingaregular-sizegirl.Iturnthesonguploudenoughthatitfeelslikeit’sinme,runningthrough

myveinsjustlikeblood.AsangryasIwastoday,Idon’trememberfeelinganxious.Noheartpalpitations,nonervoussweats.Thecafeteriadidn’tspin.Myheaddidn’tfeellikeitwasbeingsqueezedbytwoenormoushands.Mylungsbreathednormally,evenly,allontheirown.TheDamselsapplicationliesnexttome.UnderWhattraitorassetdoyou

possessthatyoucouldbringtoourteamthatwemightnotfindinother

candidates?Iwrote,I’mbig,eye-catching,andcandancelikethewind.Nowhereontheapplicationdoesitaskformyweight.IwatchasGeorgeattacksthecomforterandthink,Yes.Allrightnow.That’s

me.Nothingwilleverbeokayagain,notinthesameway,butI’mgettingusedtoit.MaybeIwillgetthatnormallifeafterall.

Isitatmycomputerforalongtime,tryingtofigureoutwhattosay.Icanbullshitmywaythroughschoolessays,butI’mnotawriter.Thishasneverbeenabigdealuntilthisexactmoment.Here’sthething.Foralltheirfaults,myparentsaregoodpeople.Okay,

MommoresothanDad.They’vetaughtmybrothersandmetobegoodpeopletoo,andeventhoughwemaynotalwaysactthatway,it’sstillinsideus,insideme.Enoughso,atleast,thatIdon’twantsomeinnocentgirlgettingshamedandhumiliatedbecauseofmyjackassfriends.Andwhatiftheydosomethingworsethantherodeocallsfor?Whatiftheytrytokissher?Whatiftheytrytocopafeel?Inmymind,Irunthrougheveryworst-casescenario,andallofthemend

withthisgirlcryingherheartout.Irestmyheadonthedesk.Ifeellikecryingmyownheartoutrightnow.Finally,I’mlike:Tohellwithit.Iliftmyheadandjuststartwriting.I’mnotashittyperson,butI’mabouttodoashittything.Andyouwillhateme,andsomeotherpeoplewillhateme,butI’mgoingtodoitanywaytoprotectyouandalsomyself…

THENEXTDAY

IrisEngelbrechtdecidestojoinmeinthecafeteria.Forsomereason—maybeit’sourcombinedsize—shewalksfivestepsbehindme.“Youstillbackthere,Iris?”“I’mhere.”Shecanmakeeventhosetwowordssoundmiserableanddefeated.Sheisthe

EeyoreofMartinVanBurenHigh.Andshetalksaboutweightalot.IdefinitelyamnotinterestedinbecomingtheOfficialSpokespersonforFatGirls,whichisexactlywhatIrisseemstothinkIam,alongwithBadassFatGirlwithAttitude.ThisistentimesworsethantheSassyFatGirlortheFatGirlBestFriend.Thisisarolethatcomeswithalotofexpectations,andthelastthingIwantistofeelresponsibleforhelpingsomeoneelsemaneuverhighschool.I’mheadingovertowhereBaileyBishopsitswithJayveeDeCastroata

tablebythewindow,whenIspyDaveKaminski,whiteheadcoveredbyablackbeanie.Iristugsonmysleeve.“Iwanttogetoutofhere.”Iturnaroundandstartwalkingintheoppositedirection,poorIrisbumping

alongbehind.AndIrunsmackintooneofDaveKaminski’sfriends,oneoftheguysfromthebleachers.He’stall,long-limbed,andlanky,withgold-brownskinandthisdarkbrownhairthatexplodesinalldirectionslikethesun.BeforeIcangetoutofhisway,hegoes,“Sorry.”Andthere’ssomething

seriousandtroubledinhiseyes,likehejustlosthisbestfriend.“No,I’msorry.”AndIsteptothesidesoIcangoaroundhim.Butthenhe’s

steppingtothesameside.SoIsteptotheotherside,andsodoeshe,andI’mthinkinghowridiculouswemustlookwhenIhearDaveKaminskisomewhereovermyrightshouldergoing,“HOLYSHIT,IT’SON!”

Forasecond,Ithinkthisboyisgoingtopassoutrightinfrontofme.Hesaysagain,“I’msorry.”Andthenhethrowshimselfonmeandholdsonlikehislifedependsonit.I’msosurprised,Ican’tevenmove.Insteadmymindgoesspinningbackin

timetoafamilyvacationwhenIwasnine.MymomanddadandcousinsandauntsandmeatthebeachinNorthCarolina.Itwasahotday,andwewereallswimming.Ihadthispink-and-yellowcheckedbathingsuitIloved.IwastreadingwaterintheshallowsandajellyfishattacheditselftomylegwhileIwasswimming.Imean,thelittlemonsterwouldn’tletmegoandtheyhadtocarrymeoutofthereandpryitoff,andIthoughtIwasgoingtodie.Well,thislittlemonsterisholdingonjustashard,andatfirstIcan’tdo

anythingbutstandthere.It’sliketheworldgoesblankandstill,andsodoI.Everythingjust

slows

down.

Andstops.Juststops.Forthefirsttimeinareallylongtime,Ifeelpanicked.Chestclenching.

Breathcomingtoofast.Palmsdamp.Neckhot.Andthensomethingsnapsmebackintoreality—maybethesoundof

shoutingandclappingandbooing.Orisitmooing?Whatever,I’msuddenlybackintheschoolcafeteriawiththisboydrapedonmelikeasweater,armswrappedaroundmetight.“No.”Irecognizemyownvoice,butIsoundfaraway,likeI’montheothersideof

theschool,overbythelibrary.It’sclearthatthisissomekindofhorriblegame.HugtheFatGirlorVelcro

YourselftotheFatGirl.Thisisworsethanbeingbannedfromtheplayground,andI’msuddenlysomadI’mshaking.Mywholebodygoeshot,whichI’msurehemustnotice,seeingashowhe’sasattachedtomeasmyarmsandlegs.

Ithink,Ididn’tlosethreehundredpoundsandgiveuppizzaandOreosjusttobeshamedinmyschoolcafeteriabythisjackass.“NOOOOO!”Itcomesoutlikearoar.Forsomeonesolanky,he’sstrong,andIsummonallthestrengthIhaveto

peelhimofflikeaBand-Aid.AndthenIpunchhiminthemouth.

I’mlyingonthecafeteriafloor,andthegirlisstandingoverme.Myjawfeelsknockedloose,likeit’soversomewhereinOhio.Igiveitarubtomakesureit’sstillattached,andmyhandcomesawaycoveredinblood.Isay,“Whatthehell?”Mywordsaregarbled.Jesus,Ithinkshebrokemy

voicebox.“Whydidyoupunchme?”“WHYDIDYOUGRABME?”Myeyesgotoherbackpack,totheletterstickingoutofthepocketIjust

managedtoshoveitinto.IwanttosayYou’llunderstandlater,butIcan’tspeakbecauseI’mwipingthebloodfrommymouth.Imaynotknowwhoanyoneis,buteveryfaceinthatcafeteriaisturned

towardus,eyesstaring,mouthshangingopenorgumsflapping.Thegirlisstillstandingthere,andfromthefloorIsay,“I’mgettingup.Incaseyou’rethinkingofpunchingmeagain.”Ahandcomestowardme,andit’sattachedtoatallwhiteguywearinga

stupidblackbeanie.Ihatehatsbecausesometimestheonlyidentifierissomeone’shair,andahaterasesthat,whicherasesthem.I’mnotsurewhetherIshouldtakethehand,butnooneelseisofferingone,soIlethimpullmeup.Ashedoes,thesonofabitchstartslaughing.Thegirlturnsonhim.“You’reajackass.”Heholdshishandsuplikeshe’spulledagun.“Hey,I’mnottheonethat

grabbedyou.”“Maybenot,butI’msureyouhadsomethingtodowithit.”Whichtellsme

thismightbeDaveKaminski.

Thenanothergirlisthere,darkandangry,withamolebyoneeye,andshegetsrightupinthefaceofthegirlIgrabbed.“YOUHITHIM?YOUSTUPIDCOW!HEWASN’THURTINGYOU!”AndonlyCarolineLushampcangethervoicethathighandloud.Isay,“Ideservedit.Ishouldn’thavegrabbedher.”AndsuddenlyI’m

defendingmyattacker.“Shedidthistoyou?”Akidappears,pointychin,shaggyhair.I’msearching

hisfaceforsignsofwhoheis,buteveryoneiscomingatmeallatonce,andthisismynightmarebecauseIdon’tknowwhoanyoneis.Peoplearepullingatme,andwantingtoknowWhathappened,amIokay,it’sgoingtobeokay,don’tyouworry,Jack.IwantthemtogetoffmeandgoawaybecauseI’msupposedtoknowthemandIdon’t,andImightaswellhaveamnesia.TheyarefreakingmeoutandIwanttotellthemtofuckoff.She’stheonewhodeservestheattention,notme.It’smyfault,nothers.“Whatthehellhappened,Jax?”Thepointy-chinnedguyisMarcus,myown

brother,becausethisiswhatheusedtocallmewhenwewerekids.ButIcan’tbesure,canI?Evenbabiesrecognizethepeopletheyknow.Even

dogs.EvenCarlJumers,whostill—howmanyyearsaftergradeschool?—hastocountonhisfingers,andlastyearateacatturdbecausehewasdared.Oneofthesecurityguysappears,pushingpeopleaway.Andalsoateacher

(grayhair,beard),whotriestorestoreorderinthecrowd.Ashe’stellingthemthere’snothingtoseehere,gobacktoyourbusiness,anothergirlcomeswalkingup,fast.“JackMasselin,whathappened?”She’sexaminingmyface,andatthispoint

I’mnotsurewhereI’mbleedingfrom.DoIknowthisperson?There’snothingaboutherthatlooksfamiliar,butthensomeonegoes,“Itwashim,Ms.Chapman.Hegrabbedher.”Ijerkmychinoutofherhand.Isay,“It’sMrs.Chapman,”andIlookher

rightintheeye.Inthatmoment,I’mlike,Comeon,lady.Showmewhatyougot.Showmewhatmakesyousospecial.Imean,theremustbesomethingincrediblehere,right?Whyelsewouldmydadputhisfamilyonthelineandriskeverything?Buttheonlyonewhostandsoutfromthestaring,jabberingcrowdofthem

isn’tmyownbrotherorthewomanwho’swreckingmyparents’marriage.It’sagirlIdon’tevenknow,thelargestgirlhere.

PrincipalWassermanisawiryjumpingbeanofawoman.Aplaquebehindherdesksaysshe’sbeenaprincipalfortwenty-fiveyears.Isitacrossfromher,nexttotheboyandawomanwhomustbehismother.PrincipalWassermansaystome,“Yourdadshouldbehereanyminute.”SuddenlyIfeellikeI’mgoingtothrowupbecauseI’vejustgonereeling

backintimetotheworstmomentofmylife.Iwasinfifthgrade,inthemiddleofaschoolassembly,whentheprincipalfoundmeandledmeoutoftheauditoriuminfrontofeveryone.Shetookmetotheoffice,wheremydadwaswaitingalongwithaschoolcounselor.AbigboxofKleenexsatonthecorneroftheprincipal’sdesk,andthatwaswhatIfocusedon.Itwassuchabigbox,asifthey’dcreateditespeciallyforthatmoment.“Yourmomisinthehospitalandwehavetoleavenow.”“Whatdoyoumean?”HehadtorepeatitthreetimesbeforeIcouldunderstand,andeventhenI

thoughtitwasaterriblejoke,thatthey’dallconspiredforsomereasontoplaythisreallycrueltrickonme.“Libbs?”Ilookupasmydadwalksin.“Areyouokay?”“I’mokay.”Someonebringsinachairforhim,andthentheprincipaltellseveryone

whathappenedinthecafeteria.Theboy’smomisstaringathersonlikehe’sRosemary’sbaby.Shesays,

“There’sgottobesomesortofexplanationastowhyonearthyouwoulddosuchathing.”

Mydadsaystoher,“I’dliketoheartheexplanationthatcouldmakemeunderstandthis.”Theprincipalspeaksoverthem.“IwanttohearfromJackandLibby.”Everyonelooksatus.“Hegrabbedme.”“Howdidhegrabyou?”“HelaunchedhimselfatmeandheldonlikeIwasaflotationdeviceandhe

wasthelastmanofftheTitanic.”Thisboy,Jack,clearshisthroat.“That’snotexactlyhowithappened.”Iraiseaneyebrowathim.“Really?”Buthe’snotlookingatme.He’stoofocusedontryingtoseducePrincipal

Wasserman.Heleansforwardinhischairandtalksinthislow,drawlingvoicelikehe’sconspiringwithher.“Itwasstupid.Thewholethingwasstupid.Isstupid.I’vejust…”Heglancesathismom.“Thepastcoupleofyearshaven’tbeensoeasy.”HelooksatPrincipalWassermaninthissuperintenseway,likehe’stryingtohypnotizeher.“I’mnotsayingthere’sanyexcuseforwhatIdid,becauseIdoubtthere’sanythingIcansaytoyoutojustifywhathappenedoutthere…”He’sasnakecharmer,thisone,butluckyforme,PrincipalWassermanisn’t

afool.Shecutshimoffandturnstome.“I’dliketohearwhatprecipitatedthepunchinthemouth.”Mydadgoes,“Youpunchedhim?”Asevidence,Jackpointstohisface.Isay,“Hegrabbedme.”“Technically,Ihuggedher.”“Itwasn’tahug.Itwasagrab.”PrincipalWassermangoes,“Whydidyougrabher,Jack?”“BecauseIwasbeinganidiot.Ididn’tmeananythingbyit.Iwasn’ttryingto

scareher.Wasn’ttryingtobullyher.IwishIhadabetterreason,believeme.”Hiseyesaregoing,Youwillforgiveme.Youwillforgetthiseverhappened.Youwilllovemeasalltheothersdo.“Didyoufeelthreatened,Libby?”“Ididn’tfeelgreat,ifthat’swhatyou’reasking.”“Butdidyoufeelthreatened?Sexually?”OhmyGod.“No.Justhumiliated.”Evenmoresonow,thanks.“Becausewedon’ttakesexualassaultlightly.”

Jack’smotherleansforwardinherchair.“PrincipalWasserman,I’manattorney,andI’masconcernedasyouare—ifnotmoreso—aboutwhat’stranspiredheretoday,butuntilwe—”PrincipalWassermansaysagain,“IwanttohearfromJackandLibby.”Nexttome,Icanfeelthelifegooutofthisboy.Iglanceoverathim,andhe

lookslikeashell,likesomeonecamealongandsuckedawayeveryounceofhisblood.Forwhatevermoronicreasonhegrabbedme,Iknowhedidn’tmeanitlikethat.SoIsay,“Itwasn’tsexual.Atall.Ineverfeltthreatenedinthatway.”“Butyouhithim.”“NotbecauseIfeltassaulted.”“Whydidyouhithim,then?”“Becausehegrabbedmeinatotallynonsexualbutstillreallyannoyingand

humiliatingway.”Theprincipalfoldsherhandsonherdesk.Hereyesarefixedonuslike

she’dturnustostone,ifonlyshecould.“Fightingonschoolpropertyisaseriouscharge.Soisvandalism.”Andittakesmeaminute.Sheholdsupascanofaphotograph,whichIdon’tneedtolookatbecauseIalreadyknowwhat’sthere.ShesaystoJack,“Doyouknowanythingaboutthis?”Heleansforwardtostudythepicture.Sitsbackagain,shakinghishead.“No,

ma’am,Idonot.”Ma’am.Mydadleansin.“Letmeseethat,please.”Ashetakesthepieceofpaper,PrincipalWassermansays,“I’mafraid

someonehasdefacedoneofourschoolbathroomswithderogatorycommentsaboutyourdaughter.Iassureyouitisgoingtobedealtwith.Idon’ttakesomethinglikethislightlyeither.”ShelooksatJackagain.Hismomlooksathim.Mydadlooksathim,hisjawtensingsomuchI’mworrieditwillcrackinhalf.Iwillmyselftobecomeinvisible.Ishutmyeyes,asifthismighthelp.When

Iopenthemagain,I’mstillinthechairandeveryoneisstaringatme.Isay,“Sorry?”Mydadwavesthescan.“Doyouknowwhodidthis?”Iwanttosayno.Absolutelynot.“Libbs?”Here’smychoice—Icanlieandsayno.IcantellthemJackdidit.OrIcan

tellthetruth.“Yes.”“Yes,youknowwhodidit?”“Yes.”

Everyonewaits.“Itwasme.”Ittakesthemaminute.Theboywhistles.Hismomsays,“Jack.”“Sorry.But.”Hewhistlesagain.PrincipalWasserman’sfacehasfallen,andIcanimaginehersittingdown

withherhusbandtonight,tellinghimhowkidshavechanged,howwebreakherheart,howit’sagoodthingshe’salmostretiredbecauseshedoesn’tknowthatshecandothismuchlonger.Mydadsays,“Why,Libby?”Andmaybeit’sthewayhesays“Libby”insteadof“Libbs,”butforsome

stupidreason,I’mabouttocry.“Becausesomeonewasgoingtowriteit.”AndsuddenlyIfeelnaked,likeImightaswellbelaidoutonadissecting

table,insidesexposedtotheworld.There’snowayIcaneverexplaintoanyoneotherthanmydadtheimportanceofbeingprepared,ofalwaysbeingonestepaheadofeveryoneandeverything.“Bettertobethehunterthanthehunted.Evenifyou’rehuntingyourself.”MyeyesmeetJack’s.“Somethinglikethat.”“AndthenIcomealongtoproveyourpoint.”Heholdsmygazeforafewseconds,andthenwebothlookaway.Wesit

there,thefiveofus,inthemostawkwardsilenceofmylife,untiltheprincipalsays,“ThereareseveraldifferentpunishmentsIcouldgiveyou.Suspension.Expulsion.Insomecases,schoolsinRushvilleandNewCastlehaveevencalledinlocalpolicetomakearrests.”Jackgoes,“Howaboutweletmypunishmentbethattheentireschoolsawa

girlkickmyass.”“Orwecanprosecuteyouforbullying,”shesaystohim.Jack’smother,theattorney,nearlyfallsoffherchair.“Beforewetalkabout

prosecuting—”PrincipalWassermanspeaksoverher.“Andyou,Libby,forfighting.”“Itwasself-defense!”Myvoiceboomsout,tooloudandhigh.“WhenI

punchedhim,Imean.”Althoughthebathroomwasaboutself-defensetoo.TheprincipalnodsatJack.“Hadheletgoofyoubythetimeyouhithim?”“OnlybecauseIpulledhimoffme.”Sheshakesherheadandsighsforthreedays.“I’mnotgoingtomakemy

decisionrightnow.Iwanttotalktowitnesses.Ineedtolookatyourrecords,weightheoptions.ButIwanttomakeitclearthatIhaveazero-tolerancepolicywhenitcomestoviolence,bullying,oranythingthatevenhintsat

sexualharassment.”ShenarrowshereyesatJack,thenatme.“I’mnottoocrazyaboutvandalismeither.”

We’retoldtowaitoutsideWasserman’soffice.Thesecurityguardandthebeardedteachergoinaswecomeout,alongwithacoupleofkids,Godknowswho,maybemyownbrother.LibbyandIsitsidebysideonabench.Iwatchthedoorleadingoutofhere,intothemainhall,andallIcanthinkisDon’tletMonicaChapmanwalkin,notwithmymominthere.Libbylooksatme.“Whydidyoudoit?”IwanttosayReadtheletter,butrightaboutnowthatletterseemslikethe

second-worstideaI’veeverhad.“Haven’tyoueverdonesomethingmeanorstupidwithoutthinkingit

through?Somethingyouinstantlyregrettedassoonasyoudidit?”Shedoesn’tanswer.SoIsay,“Sometimespeoplearejustshitty.Sometimesthey’reshittybecausethey’reafraid.Sometimestheychoosetobeshittytoothersbeforeotherscanbeshittytothem.Likeself-defensiveshittiness.”Becausemybrainisdamaged.BecauseI’mdamaged.“Whyme?OrshouldIask?”“Youshouldn’task.”There’snowayinhellI’msayingthewords“FatGirl

Rodeo”toher.Sherollshereyesandlooksaway.“Youdon’tthinkthey’llsuspendus.Or

expelus?”Shesaysthistowardtheothersideoftheroom.“No.Thisisn’tmyfirst…”Ialmostsay“rodeo”butstopmyself.“We’llbe

okay.”Althoughhonestly,I’mnotsosure.HereyesmeetmineagainandIsmileather,evenasI’mhatingmyself,and

mylipstartsbleeding.“Doesithurt?”

“Yeah.”“Good.”

Anhourorsolater,thedoortotheprincipal’sofficeopens,andPrincipalWasserman(shortgrayhair,glasses)wavesusbackin.Twomenleanagainstthewindowsill—oneofthemisagiantandtheotherisprettyskinny.Libby’sdadfixesmewithalook.Heisbroad-shouldered,likeCharlesBronson,andIfeeltheneedtosay,“I’msorry,sir.”LibbyandIdropintoourusualchairs.Icatchmymom’seye,andsheshakes

herhead(shewearsherhaironeoftwoways,andtodaysheisMom-with-Hair-Up).Imaynotbeabletorecognizefaces,butIcantellwhensomeoneisdisappointedandfurious,andmymomisboth.IthinkofallthetimesMomhastoldmetostayoutoftrouble,thatpeoplewillbeharderonmebecauseofthewayIlook.IknowI’veletherdown,andshewillsayI’veletmyselfdown.Thegray-headedwomanpropsherelbowsonthedeskandleansforward.

“I’mnotgoingtosuspendyouorexpelyou.Notthistime.Insteadthetwoofyouwillperformcommunityservicetogether,onlyinsteadofdoingthisforthecommunity,itwillbecommunity-typeservicefortheschool.We’reputtingyouinchargeofpaintingthebleachersandthelockerrooms.Mr.Sweeneywillsupervise.”Thegiantnodsatus.“Thetwoofyouwillalsomeetwithacounseloreverydayafterschoolfor

thenextfewweeks.TheConversationCircleisbeingusedeffectivelyatmoreandmoreschoolsacrossthecountry,andIbelieveitwillalsobeeffectivehere.It’simportantthatyoulearnfromtheexperienceandeachother.Mr.Levine”—theskinnyguywaves—“specializesinsomeofthemostprevalentissuesaffectingteenstoday,includingbullying,prejudice,andsexualharassment.”Iclearmythroat,whichstillfeelsraw.“Idon’tthinkit’sfairtopunishher

forsomethingIinstigated.I’dratherservethetimeforbothofus.”Libbygoes,“Youareunbelievable.”“What?”“Youdon’tgettobethevillainandthehero.”PrincipalWassermansays,“Thankyou,Jack,butLibbybroketherulesas

well.”

Asweleave,Itrytosay“I’msorry”again,butLibby’sfatherwrapshisarmaroundhershouldersandsteersheraway.Intheparkinglot,mymomsays,“We’lldiscussthisathome,JackHenry.”

Myfullname.Somethingshehasn’tcalledmeinyears.Shedrivesoffwithout

anotherword.IgodirectlytoMasselin’s,hopingtoslinkinandbypasseveryone—namely

mydad.I’mbarelysettledbehindtheofficedeskwhenhecomeswalkingin.“Iheardwhathappenedtoday.Whatthehellwereyouthinking?”ItellhimIdon’tknow,thatitwasmeanttobeaprank,butitendedupbeing

areallystupididea,andIwishIhadn’tdoneit,andalltheotherthingsI’vespentthepastfewhourssayingoverandover.“YourmotherandIaredisappointedinyou.”Asifheneedstotellmethis.IwanttosayI’mdisappointedinyoutoo.But

insteadIsay,“Iknow.I’msorry.”WhenI’mfinallyalone,Iturnonmyphone.Itimmediatelyblowsupwith

voicemailsandtexts.There’sCaroline,Seth,BaileyBishop,Kam,andaboutahundredotherpeople,includingMarcus,whoknowallaboutwhathappened.BaileyBishopiscryingbecauseshecan’tbelieveIwoulddosomethingso

hurtfultoanotherhumanbeing.Carolinetalksmostlyaboutherself,butmybrotheractuallywantstoknowifI’mokayandwhathappenedwiththeprincipal.Kam’smessagesays,Congrats,princess.Youwin.Choosetheplacesowe

cantakeyoursorryassoutforavictorymeal.Buthey,domeafavoranddon’tgetyourasskickedbyanyothergirlsbeforethen.Followedbyanentireminuteoflaughter.

Theradioisplaying,butthevolumeislow,andmydadistalkingonandon.Whenhebringsuphomeschoolingagain,Isay,“Youdon’tneedtoworryaboutme.Icantakecareofmyself.”“Youreallypunchedhim?”“Rightinthemouth.”Andthenhelaughs.“Areyoulaughing?”“IthinkIam.”“You’renotsupposedtolaugh.You’resupposedtotellmeviolencenever

solvesanythingandtakeawaymyphoneorsomething.”“Don’tpunchanyoneagain.Andifitmakesyoufeelbetter,givemeyour

phone.”Andhejustkeepsonlaughing.AndnowI’mlaughingtoo.Andforthefirsttimeinalongtime,Ifeel

normal,weirdasthatsounds.Wefeelnormal.Whichmakesmethinkwhathappenedtodaywasn’tsobadafterall,andmaybeallthehumiliationandtheupcominghoursofcommunityserviceandcounselingareworththissinglemoment.Aswepulluptoourhouse,Dadsays,“Don’tletthatboygetinyourhead.

Don’tlethimtakeawaywhatyou’veworkedsohardfor.”“Iwon’t.I’mgettinguptomorrowandgoingbacktoschool.”Ilookdownat

myshoesandthequotewrittenthere.“‘Youcan’tstopliving.’”

IfindDustyinhisroom,playingvideogames.He’sgothisheadphoneson,andIcanhearthemusicblastingthroughthem—theJackson5,whichheonlylistenstowhenhe’sfeelinghisabsoluteworst.IwaveatDusty,andfinallyhelooksupandmouths,“What?”Imimeremovingheadphones.Imakeitelaborateandexaggerated,hoping

he’lllaugh.Heignoresme.Istarttodance.Dustycan’tresistdancing.Thesongis“Rockin’Robin,”and

Idon’tholdback.Ijustgoforit.I’mtwistingandgroovingacrossthefloor.I’minamusicvideo.I’mMichaelJacksoninhisprime.Iamtheman.“I’mtheman,”Isay,loudenoughsohecanhear.Ishakeoutthelionfro,

makingitasbigaspossible.“You’renottheman.”Hesaysittooloud,thewayyoualwaysdowhen

you’relisteningtotheJackson5atfullvolumethroughheadphones.“Iamtheman.”I’mdoingdancemoves,oneshetaughtme.Ipurposelydo

themwrongbecausehewon’tbeabletohelphimself.Hemakesmesweatitforanotherthirtyseconds,andthenhe’supandtheheadphonesareoffandhestartsshowingmethecorrectsteps.Wefinishthesong,dancinginunison,andit’sawesome,butthenthesongis

over,andDustydropsontohisbedandgivesmethislookthatletsmeknowwe’reonlyinunisononthedancefloor,nowhereelse.Justtodrivethepointhome,hegoes,“You’renottheman.”“Iguessnot.”Isitnexttohimandwebothstareatthefloor.“Sowhichisit?Whichreasonmadeyoudothisshittything?”

IthinkthroughallthereasonsIlistedbefore—Sometimesthey’rejustshittypeople.Sometimespeoplehavebeenshittytothem.Sometimesthey’reshittybecausethey’reafraid.Sometimestheychoosetobeshittytoothersbeforeotherscanbeshittytothem.Sometimessomeonedoesn’tlikewhoheis,butthenhere’sthisotherkidwhoknowsexactlywhoheis,andthatcanmakethatfirstkidfeelevenworseabouthimself.“Maybeallofthem.ButImeantwhatIsaid.I’llneverbeshittytoyou.”Thenhelooksatme,andhemightaswellknockmeinmysplitlipbecause

hegoes,“Youneedtomakeitright.”“Iknow.”

Mydadfindsmeinthekitchen,eatingstandingup,andthisissomethingwedon’tdoanymore.It’soneofthefoodruleswefollow,alongwithdon’teatinfrontoftheTV,don’teattoofast,andstopeatingwhenyou’resixtypercentfull.WhenIseehim,Isettheplatedown.Wherevertheacheiscomingfrom—

myheart,mystomach—thefoodisn’treachingit.Whenmymomwentaway,Iwentemptytoo.Likeallofmejustfloodedout

anddisappeared.Inthehospital,Iheldherhanduntilmygrandmothercamein,andmydad,andtherestofmyfamily.Allofthemsweetandlovingandbrokenhearted,butnoneofthemlikemymom.Notevenalltogether.Theydidn’tbegintoadduptoher.Mydad’seyesgototheplate,buthedoesn’tcomment.Insteadhesays,

“BaileyBishopisheretoseeyou.”

Baileystandsinthecenterofmybedroom,headturning,haircatchingthelightlikeit’stryingtograballofitandkeepitforitself.“It’sbeenalongtime.”SheleansdowntorubGeorgeunderhischin,and

surprisinglyheletsher.Traitor,Ithink.Baileysays,“Didn’tyouhavehimbackthen?”“IgothimwhenIwaseight.”MymomandIpickedhimout,orratherhe

pickedus.Wewenttoarescueevent,andGeorgegotfreeofhiscageandpackedhimselfintomymom’spurse.“Hewassupposedtodiefouryearsago,buthe’snotready.”

ThelasttimeBaileywasatmyhouse,wewereten.IhadinvitedherandMoniqueBentonandJesselleVillegasforasleepover.Thefourofusstayedupallnightandtalkedaboutboysandtoldeachotherourdeepest,darkestsecrets.Bailey’swasthatshetriedtogiveherbabybrotherawaywhenhewasborn.MinewasthatIsometimesspiedontheboyswholivedacrossthestreet.ThiswasbeforeDean,Sam,andCastielbecamemyonlyfriends.BaileystraightensandfocusesallofherBailey-nessonmeandsays,“I’m

sorryInevercametoseeyou.Ishouldhavecometoseeyou.Whenyouwereinhere.Well,notinhere,butinyouroldhouse.”Thisthrowsmecompletely,andIstandtherelikealump.Howdoessheget

tobesoniceandalsohavehairlikethat?Finally,Igo,“That’sokay.Imeanweweren’tbestfriendsoranything.”“Butwewerefriends.Ishouldhavecome.”ShouldIhugher?ShouldItellherit’sokay?ShouldItellhersheshould

havecometoseemealongtimeago,waybeforeIwastrappedinmyhouse,whenmydadfirstpulledmeoutofschoolandletmestayhome?Shesays,“Ihavetotellyousomething,andit’shorrible,butIdon’twant

youtohavetohearaboutitatschool.”Allofasudden,shelookslikeshe’sgoingtocry,andatfirstIthinkshe’sgoingtotellmeshe’sdyingormaybeI’mdying.Andthenshetellsmeaboutthegame.HowIwasthegrandprizein

somethingcalledFatGirlRodeo,andhowthatnewshasspreadacrosssocialmedialikeavirus.Everyoneisinfected,andmytwothousandclassmatesandmany,manystrangersareallweighingin(getit?)aboutwhetherthey’reTeamLibbyorTeamJack.Someone’spostedapictureofme,whichtheymusthavesnappedjustafterit

happened,becausethereIaminthecafeteria,lookingmadasahatter,fiststillclenched,JackMasselinsprawledatmyfeet.Youcan’tseehisface,butyoucanseemine(dangerouslyred,slightlysweaty).Caption:Don’tmesswithMadLbs.“Lbs”asinpounds,ofcourse.Thereareseventy-sixcomments,andonlyafewofthemarenice.Therestsaytheusual:IfIwasthatbig,I’dwanttokillmyself.And:She’sprettyforafatgirl.And:Justlookingathermakesmewanttonevereatagain.Andsimply:LOSEWEIGHT,YOUFATWHORE.ThisisexactlywhyIdon’tdosocialmedia.Somanymeancommentsand

snarkycommentsandbullyingdisguisedasI’monlyexpressingmyopinion,astheConstitutionofourgreatcountryrequiresmetodo.Ifyoudon’tlikeit,don’treadit.Blahblahblah.IhavethisoverwhelmingurgetothrowBailey’sphoneawayandmyphone

away,andthengoupanddownthestreetcollectingphonessoIcanthrowthem

awaytoo.Baileysays,“MaybeIshouldn’thavesaidanything.”Shechewsona

fingernailandsquintsuphereyes,andIcanseethetearsinthem.“I’mgladyoudid.”ImeanI’mnothappy,obviously,butIwasgoingtofind

outsomehowandbeingtoldbytheworld’skindestpersonisprobablythebestwaytodothat.Iturnmyphoneoff,andthenIshutdownthecomputersoIcan’treadabout

myselfanymore.IsaytoBailey,“Iamsickofreadingaboutmyself.”Shenodsinhereager-to-pleaseBaileyway.Istartpacing,whichmeansI’mabouttostarttalking.Alot.“Foronething,there’sonlysomuchnewmaterialyoucangetfromthefactthatI’moverweight.Wegetit,people.Moveon.”Baileynodslikecrazy.“Wegetit.”“Andthiswhole‘prettyforafatgirl’thing.Imean,whatisthat?Whycan’tI

justbeprettyperiod?Iwouldn’tsay,‘Oh,BaileyBishop,she’sprettyforaskinnygirl.’Imean,you’rejustBailey.Andyou’repretty.”“Thankyou.You’reprettytoo.”AndunlikeCarolineandKendra,Iknowshe

meansit.“Andwhatisthiswhole‘fatgirlequalswhore’bullshit?”Sheflinches.

“Sorry.‘Fatgirlequalswhore’garbage.Whatisthat?WhyamIautomaticallyawhore?Howdoesthatevenmakesense?”“Itdoesn’t.”“Ifeveryonewhohadsomethingtosayaboutmespentasmuchtimeon,I

don’tknow,practicingkindnessordevelopingapersonalityorasoul,imaginehowlovelytheworldwouldbe.”“Solovely.”Igoonandon,Baileyasmycheerleader,untilIrunoutofsteam.Isink

downontomybedandsay,“WhyarepeoplesoconcernedwithhowbigIam?”Shedoesn’tanswer,justtakesmyhandandholdsit.Shedoesn’tneedtoanswerbecausethereisnoanswer.Exceptthatonlysmallpeople—theinside-smallkind—don’tlikeyoutobebig.

I’veneverbuiltarobotbefore,butI’mdetermined.IwatchacoupleofYouTubevideos.Consultacoupleofbooks.BythetimeI’mdone,I’vedecidedit’sgoingtobethebestdamnLegorobotever.Formyeighthbirthday,Iaskedforahammer,screwdrivers,andwire

cutters.IgotmyfirstsolderingironwhenIwasnine.Nooneknowswherethisurgetobuildcomesfrom,exceptthatmydadhasalwaysbeenprettyhandy,somaybeIgetsomeofitfromhim.IjustknowthateversinceIwaslittle,makingthingsoutofthinairiswhatcentersme,likethewayotherpeopleturntoyogaormorphine.It’swhywehaveapizzaovenandapitchingmachineinourbackyard,acatapultinourgarage,andaweatherstationontheroof.WhenI’mworking,Iseetheobjectasawholebeforeiteverexists,andIbuildmywaythere.It’stheexactoppositeofmyeverydaylife.ButrightnowallIseearethepieces,whichisexactlylikemyeverydaylife.

Redoneshere,blueonesthere,whiteandyellowandgreenandblack.Atsomepoint,Iliebackontopofthem,rightonthecoldconcretefloor.It’suncomfortableashell,butItellmyself,Youdon’tdeservecomfort,asshole.IwonderwhatLibbyStroutisdoingrightaboutnow.Ihopeshe’snot

thinkingaboutmeortoday.Ihopesomehowshecanthinkaboutsomethingelse.Anythingelse.Ihearfootstepsonthebasementstairs,andawomanappears,firstherlegs,

thentherestofher.Iassumeit’smymom,becausewhatotherwomanwouldbeinthehouseunlessDad’sdecidedtobringMonicaChapmaninhere?Ilookfortheidentifiers.ThisisMom-with-Hair-Down.Hermouthiswide.She’sclearlyblack.Itrytobuildmywaytoherface,butevenafterIlocateenough

piecestotellmyselfOkay,that’sher,it’snotasiftheimageofhersnapsintoplaceforme,andit’snotasifitsticksaround.Isuddenlyfeeloldandso,sotired.It’sexhausting,constantlyhavingtosearchforthepeopleyoulove.Shesays,“Idon’tneedtotellyouhowdisappointedIaminyou.Orhow

angry.”“Youdonot.”Ilookupatherfromthefloor.“Wehavetohopetheydon’tdecidetopresscharges.Youmaynotsee

yourselfasblack,andyoumaynotthinkpeopleseeyouasblack,butit’safactthatoursocietytreatskidsofcolormoreseverelythanothers,andIdonotwantthisfollowingyoufortherestofyourlife.”We’rebothquietasIthinkaboutmydismal,dead-endfuture.Shesays,“Whatareyoudoing?”“IwaspreparingtobuildaLegorobotforlittleman,butrightnowI’m

contemplatingwhatanassholeIam.”“That’sastart.Howareyougoingtomakethisbetter?”“Idon’tthinkthere’sanymakingitbetter,isthere?There’sjustmakingitas

goodasIcanafterthefact.”“Isthereanythingyouwanttotalkabout?Anythingyouneedtotellme?”“Nottonight.”Maybenotever.Myphonebuzzesonthefloornexttome.“Getyourcall.Youcantellmetomorrow.”Maybe.Sheadds,“Iloveyouanyway.”“Iloveyouanywaytoo.”

It’salmostninewhenBaileyleaves.I’mstillfiredup,soIdanceforawhile,andthenIdecidetodohomework.Idumpthecontentsofmybackpackontomybedandsortthroughmypapersandnotebooksandpensandgumwrappers,andallthemiscellaneousrubbishI’vestuffedinthere,includingWeHaveAlwaysLivedintheCastle,whichIcarryeverywhere.Buriedinthemessisawhiteletter-sizeenvelope.What’sthis?Iripitopenandstartreading.I’mnotashittyperson,butI’mabouttodoashittything…

AtfirstIthinkhe’smakingitup.Ireadtheletteragain.Andagain.Youknowhowit’seasytobelieveeverythingisaboutyou,especiallywhen

somethinggoeswrong?Whyme?WhydoIhavetheworstluckever?Whyistheuniversesomean?Whydoeseveryonehateme?Mymomusedtosaysometimesit’sactuallyabouttheotherpersonandyoujusthappentobethere.Likesometimestheotherpersonneedstolearnalessonorgothroughanexperience,goodorbad,andyou’rejustanaccessoryinsomeway,likeasupportingactorinwhatevertheirscenehappenstobe.Maybe,justmaybe,thiswholenightmareismoreaboutJackMasselinthanit

isaboutme.Maybethiswholethinghappenedtoteachhimalessonabouthowtotreatotherpeople.Isitandthinkonthatforawhile.ThiswasthethingMomdid—lookedatall

sidesofthings.Shebelievedthatsituationsandpeoplewerealmostneverblack-and-white.

Tenminuteslater,I’mreadingeverythingIcanfindonprosopagnosia,whichleadsmetoanartistnamedChuckClose,neurologist/authorOliverSacks,andBradPitt.AccordingtotheInternet,theyallhavefaceblindness.Imean,BradPitt.Whatiftheentireworldwasface-blind?Ifeveryonehadprosopagnosia,there’dbehopeforthehomely.Noone

wouldeversay“You’retooprettytobefat”or“She’sprettyforafatgirl”becauselookswouldstopmattering.Wouldpeoplestillcareifyouwereoverweightortoothin?Tallorshort?Maybe.Maybenot.Butitwouldbeastepintherightdirection.Atfatcamp,wehadtotrytoputourselvesintotheskinofotherpeople,just

likeAtticustoldScout:Youneverreallyunderstandapersonuntilyouconsiderthingsfromhispointofview…Untilyouclimbinsideofhisskinandwalkaroundinit…Skin’ssofascinatinganyway—Imeanthewayitexpandsandshrinks.IusedtoweightwicewhatIdonow—that’stwotimesmore—andmyskinfitmethenanditfitsmenow.Weird.ItrytoputmyselfinJackMasselin’sskinandimaginewhatheseeswhenhe

looksatme.DoIlookdifferent,insomeway,fromeveryoneelse?OrdoIblendin?ThenIimaginethatI’mtheonewithfaceblindness.Whatwouldtheworldlooklike?Ipullupanewdocument.Iwrite:DearJack,Thanksforexplainingyourdouchiness.Idon’tthinkprosopagnosiagivesyouthe

righttobeajerk,butI’matleastgladyou’renotrottentoyourcore.Maybethere’shopeforyou.

Libby

p.s.Ihavequestions.

OntheotherendofthephoneKamsays,“Iwishyoucouldhaveseenit.Thelookonherfacewhenyouthrewyourselfaroundher,andthenwhenyoujusthungoutthereandwouldn’tletgo.”IforceoutthiskindofhalfheartedlaughthatsoundslikeI’mbeing

strangled.“Man,Ibetshelookedsurprised.”“AssurprisedasthatchickinPsychowhenNormanBatesinterruptsher

shower.SowhatdidWassermansay?”“Oh,shewasreallyfuckingthrilled.Communityserviceandcounseling.

Forweeks.”“Shit.”“Iknow.”“Butitwasworthit.”“Saysthemanwhodoesn’thavetodoit.”He’slaughingagain.“Butwait,itgetsbetter.”Great.“Rememberthegirlwhogotcutoutofherhouseacoupleofyearsago?”“Whatabouther?”“That’sher.”“Who?”“LibbyStrout.She’stheoneyourodeoed.”IfeellikeI’vebeenpunchedinthefaceagain.“Areyousure?”ItrytosoundlikeIdon’treallygiveashit,buthere’sthe

thing—Idogiveashit.Igivefivemillionshits,whichiswhyIfeellikeI’mgoingtobesickallovertheseLegos.

“Oh,I’msure.”He’slaughing.Idomystrangle-laughagain,onlyitsoundsworsethistime.“Man,yousoundrough.”“Ithinkshebrokemythroat.”“Sodoyourememberher?”“Yeah.Ido.”

Outside,theneighborhoodisasleep.Iclimboutmywindowandintothetreethatactsasaladdertotheroof.IsnakeallthewayupituntilI’mthere,andthenIwalktotheedge,overbythegutter.Myweatherstationisanchorednearthechimney,batteredandlopsided.WhenIwassix,Ifellofftheroofandcrackedmyheadopen.Withoutthinking,Ireachuptofeelthescar.IrunmyfingersalongitasIstareacrossthestreet.IfIstandherelong

enough,Icanseeit—thegapingholewherethefrontwallofherhouseusedtobe.

THREEYEARSEARLIER

Idreamthatthestreet’sonfire.AndthenIwakeuptosirens.Iliestillandlistenastheycomeblaringtowardthehouse.It’send-of-daysdarkinhere,butsuddenlytheceilingflashesredandthesirenswindtoastop.I’mupandoutofbedandgrabbingshitoffmydresserandbookshelvesbeforeIevenknowwhat’shappening.Onmywayout,Ifallheadfirstintothehallway,whereIhearbutdon’tsee

mydad,whosaysfromtheblackrecessesofhisbedroom,“It’snotus.Gobacktobed.”ButthedreamwassodamnrealthatI’mstillhalfinit,andIkeeprighton

going.Outside,theairiscoldbutsmellsclean.Nofire,nosmoke.I’mstillholdingtheshitIgrabbed—mygranddad’swatch,myretainer,astackofbaseballcards,myphonecharger(butnophone)—andofcoursethere’snojacket.It’sthehouseacrossthestreet.Rollingupinfrontisthislineoffiretrucks,

anambulance,twopolicecars.Ifigureitmustbedruglordsoramethlabormaybeevenaterrorist.IthinkitwouldbereallydamncooltohaveaterroristonourstreetbecauseAmos,Indiana,isoneboring-assplace.“Whosehouseisthat?”It’sMombehindme.“Strom,Stein…”ThisfromDad.“Strout,”saysMarcus,who’stwelve,almostthirteen,andknowseverything.Isaybeforehecan,“TheStroutsmovedoutyearsago.”Thehousehasbeen

emptysincethen.Youneverseeanyonecomingorgoing.“No,theydidn’t.”Myotherbrother—Dusty,seven—ishoppingononeleg.

“Tamsandmewentoverlastweekandlookedinthewindows.”

“Dusty.”Momshakesherhead.“What?Wewantedtoseethefatgirl.”“Wedon’tsay‘fat.’It’snotpolite.”“Teachersays‘fat’isanadjectivejustlike‘beautiful’or‘handsome.’It’s

onlypeoplethatmakeitabadwordbysaying‘Listenup,fatso,’or‘Hey,lookatthatfat-ass.’”Momfrownsatmydadlike,He’syourfault,andhesays,“Dustin,”ina

warningtone,butIcantellhe’stryingnottolaugh.Isay,“Mrs.Buckley?”Dustystaresupatme,stillononeleg.Henods.Inod.

“That’saboutright.”Mrs.Buckleyisaverylargewoman.“Jack.”Momsighs.Mymomisalwayssighing.“Let’sgo.Backinside.It’s

cold.You’vegotschooltomorrow.”Ifwedon’tstopher,she’lllistahundredandonereasonswhyweneedtogetoffthislawn.Justthenanotherfiretruckcomesroaringup,sirenblaring,andthenthis

whitetruckcomeslumberingalongbehindandthisone’spullingacrane.Acrane.Wewatchinsilenceasthefirefightersandpoliceandtheseconstruction

workers,whosuddenlyseemtobeeverywhere,setupgiantspotlights.Thefrontdoortothehouseopensandcloses,andpeoplearemovinglikeants,scramblingacrosstheyardanddisappearinginsideandblockingoffthestreet.Bynow,allthelightsonthestreetareonandeverylawniscoveredwithgawkers.We’redirectlyacrossfromitall,front-rowseats.Amanwalkstowardus,handsinpockets,glancingoverhisshoulderatall

thecommotion.Hesaystome,“Canyoubelievethis?”Henodsoveratthehouse.“Ireallycan’t,”Isay,andthenDadgoes,“Ithoughtthathousewasempty.”

Hesaysittotheman,whofallsinbesidehim,andtheystandsidebyside,watching.There’saneasetoitthatmakesmethinkmydadmustknowhim,andthenmymomcallsthemanGregandasksabouthisdaughterJocelyn,theoneatNotreDame,andthat’showIknowit’sMr.Wallin,ournext-doorneighbor.Istandtheresurroundedbythefiretrucksandthespotlightsandthatgiant

crane,ruminatingonmybrainandhowit’ssoweirdly,strangelydifferentfromMarcus’sorDusty’sorthebrainofanyoneelseIknow.It’ssoweirdly,strangelydifferentthatforthepastyearI’vebeenwritingaboutit—notmylifestory,butasortofThisisme,thisiswhatIthinklogbecauseIliketounderstandhowthingswork.Otherbrainsaresimpleanduncomplicated,andthere’sroominthemforMr.WallinandhisdaughterJocelyn,whereasmybrainseemstobemadeforbiggerthings.Baseball.Physics.Aeronauticalengineering.Maybepresident.ThisisthereasonIdon’twatchalotofTVor

movies.Itellmyselfmybrainistoobusythinkingimportantthingstokeeptrackofthecharacters.Iwatchasanewsvanrollsin,allthewayfromIndianapolis,andthinkagain,

Terrorists.Imean,whatelsecoulditbe?

It’sthefeelingofbeingsuffocated.Whatbeingstrangledmustbelike.Myworldhastiltedawayandgonelightandfloaty,andmaybeit’sactually

morelikefloatinginspace.Itrytomovemyhead.Myarms.Mylegs.ButIcan’t.WhenIwaslittle,mymomreadmethisstoryaboutagirlwholivedina

gardenandwasneverallowedoutsidethewalls.Thegardenwasallsheknew,andtoherthatwasthewholeworld.I’mthinkingaboutthisgirlnowasI’mtryingtobreathe.Iseemydad’sface

buthelooksahundredyearsaway,likeI’mcirclingthemoonandhe’sdownonearth,andI’mtryingtorememberthenameofthestory.Isuddenlyneedtoremember.Thisiswhathappenswhenpeopledie.They

starttodisappearifyoudon’twatchit.Notallatonce,butapiecehere,apiecethere.Think.ThefatherwasItalian.Rappaccini.Rappaccini’sdaughter.Didthegirlhaveaname?ItrytoraisemyheadsoIcanaskmydad,buthesays,“Stayverystill,”

fromwaydownonearth.“Helpiscoming,Libby.”NotLibby,Ithink.Rappaccini’sdaughter.Iamhereinmygarden,andthe

worldhasstopped,andmyhearthasstopped,andIamallalone.

ThenIhearsomethingthatbringsmebacktothisplanet,thistown,thisneighborhood,thisstreet,thesefourwalls.Thesoundofthegardenbeingtornaway,thesoundofmyworldcrumbling.

Fivehourslater,thetophalfofthehousehasbeendemolishedbyateamofsledgehammersandcircularsaws.Theemergencyworkershaveerectedscaffoldingandalong,widebridgeuptothesecond-floorwindow.They’vefittedsupportstokeeptherooffromcollapsing,andwhenthesuncomesup,theyunrollthisblacktarpandcirclethehousewithit—forprivacy,Iguess.It’sclearthatsomethingneedstocomeoutofthere,andwhateveritis,it’s

big.IsitonourroofsoIcanseerightoverthetarp.Anenormousstretcher—

I’mnotsurewhatelsetocallit—ishauledoutofthetruckandrolledupontothebridge.Theemergencyworkersareracingbackandforth,andahandfulofthemanchorthestretcherinplace.Andthenthecranegoescrankingforwardandreachesitsclawintothebowelsofthehouse.Thetreeoutsidemybedroomwindowsuddenlystartstoshakeandahead

appears.Thisskinnylittlekidpullshimselfupnexttome.“Moveover,”hesays.Imakeroomforhim,andtogetherwesitthere.Wewatchastheclawcomes

upandout,andinsidetheclawisapairofarmsandapairoflegs.“Isshedead?”Dustywhispers.“Idon’tknow.”Thearmsstartwavingandthelegsbeginkicking.It’slikeKingKong

clutchingAnnDarrow.“Notdead,”Isay.Thecranesweepsaroundtillit’sabovethebridgeandallthatscaffolding,

andthenlowersitselfoverthestretcher.Verygently,likeit’splayingagameof

pickupsticks,thecranereleasesthearmsandlegsuntilIcanseethattheybelongtoagirl.ThelargestgirlI’veeverseen.“Toldyou,”Dustysays.

Theskyisbrightandblinding.It’slikeI’veneverseenitbefore,andoh,it’ssobeautifulandI’malive!I’malive!IfIdierightnow,atleastI’veseentheskylikethis—allblueandbrilliantandnew.Mychestisstillclenching,butsomeoftheclenchingreleasesandit’s

becausethesenicemenandwomenarehereandI’mnotdeadandI’mnotgoingtodieinthere,inthathouse.NottosayIwon’tdiehereintheyard,butatleasttheairisfreshandIcanbreatheandtherearetreesandskyandbirdsandoverthereacloud,afluffyone,andthereisthesmellofsomething,flowersmaybe.IwanttosayLookatme,Dean,Sam,Cas!I’moutherejustlikeyou.AndthenIthinkhowthey’remyonlyfriends,eventhoughtheydon’tknowit.AndohmyGod,I’mcryingagain,butthenImustpassoutbecausewhenIwakeupI’mbeingbumpedallaround,andI’minthebackofatruck,notevenanambulancelikearegularperson.Istareupatdingymetalinsteadofblue,andallatonceIfeelhumiliated.Howmanypeopledidittaketobreakmeout?Itrytoaskmydad,whositsbackagainsttherattlingmetalwall,head

jostlingupanddown,buthiseyesareclosed,andIcan’tspeakandsuddenlyIthink,WhatifIneverspeakagain?Dadopenshiseyesandseesmestaringathim,andhesmiles,buthe’snot

fastenough.Mychestisclenchingtighterandtighter,andIdon’twanttobehereinthistruck.Iwanttobeinmybed,inmyroom,inmyhouse.Idon’twanttobeouthere,inthisworld.IwanttosayTakemehome,please,ifthere’sanythingleftofit,butthen

somethingsweepsoverme,andit’sthiskindofquiet,peacefulfeeling,and

that’sher,that’smymom.Ibreatheslower,totrytomakeitlast,totrytokeepherwithme.Livelivelivelive…IthinkitashardasIcanbeforeeverythinggoesblack,andasIdriftoffIremember.Rappaccini’sdaughter.Beatrice.HernamewasBeatrice.

WhenIgethomefromschoolthatday,asecurityvehicleisparkedinfrontandaguardsitsbehindthewheel,soundasleep.IchecktoseeifanyoneislookingandthenIwalkrightin.There’sonlyhalfalivingroom.Thesofaisoversizeanddroopinginthe

middlelikeahammock.Aframedpictureliesfaceuponthefloor,andit’sofamanandawomanandalittlegirl.Thegirlisoutoffocus,andyoucantellshe’slaughing.Inthephoto,she’sjustaregular-sizekid.Thekitchenisatypicalkitchen.Forthemostpart,it’sintact,onlyalittle

dust.IgotothefridgefirstbecauseIcan’thelpit,Iwanttoseewhat’sinthere.IexpectabanquetsuitableforHenryVIII,butit’sjustyourrun-of-the-millstuff—eggs,milk,delimeat,cheese,dietsodas,juice.Ontheoutsideofthedoorisasinglemagnet:OHIOWELCOMESYOU.Iwalkthroughthewholehouse.It’ssmallerthanours,anditdoesn’ttakeme

longtofindherbedroom.Eventhoughpartofthefrontwallismissing,Idon’tgoinbecauseitdoesn’tfeelrespectful.Instead,Istandinthedoorway.Thewalls—theonesthatareleft—arelavender,andtherearebookshelves,floortoceiling,oneverysingleone.Thebookslookliketheymightspilloutandovertaketheroom,maybethewholehouse.Thebedisthefocalpointoftheroomandlooksspeciallybuilt.It’saking-

sizebedthatprettymuchfillsallthespace.Itsitsontopofthismetal—steel?—platform,andbesideitisasinglepairofslippers.It’stheslippersthatgetme.Theylookdelicate,liketheyweremadeforagirlDusty’sage.Thesheetshavedaisiesonthem,andthey’rethrownallaround,asifatornado’sblownthrough.Oneofthepillowsliesonthefloor.Astackofbookssitsbythebed,

andittakesmeasecondtoseethatthesearesixcopiesofthesamebook,WeHaveAlwaysLivedintheCastlebyShirleyJackson,althoughthebindingsaredifferent.Ithink,Shemustreallylovethatbook.WhenIleave,ItrynottotouchanythingexceptforonecopyoftheShirley

JacksonbookandtheOhiomagnet,bothofwhichItake.Idon’tknowwhy.Maybeitmakesmefeelclosertothegirlwholivesthere.Outside,theguardisstillsleeping,andIrapontheglasstowakehimup.Whenherollsdownthewindow,Isay,“Stayalert,buddy.Iimagineeverythingtheyownisinthathouse,andthey’vebeenthroughenoughwithoutlosingittolooters.”Ofcoursethebookandmagnetdon’tcount.

IknockonthedoorofMarcus’sroomandthenwalkonin.Hiswallsarecoveredwithposters—mostlyofbasketballplayers.There’sahoopattachedtotheclosetdoor.Agangly,shaggy-hairedkidhunchesonthefloorinfrontofhiscomputer.He’splayingavideogame—theshoot-everyone-and-blow-shit-upkind.IdowhatIusuallydo—lookforthesignsthatthisismybrother.Thepointy

chin,themessyhair,themopeyexpression.IlookforthepiecesandputthemtogetherbecausethisishowIknowit’shim.“CanIaskyouaquestion?”“What?”Hedoesn’ttakehiseyesoffthescreen.“Howdoyourememberpeoplesowell?Howdoyoutellthemapart?”“What?”“TakeSquinty.”“Hername’sPatrice.”“Whatever.Patrice.Howdoyoupickheroutofacrowd?”“She’smygirlfriend.”“Iknowshe’syourgirlfriend.”“Doyouknowwhatshe’ddotomeifIcouldn’tpickheroutofacrowd?”“Yeah,butwhatisitaboutherthattellsyouit’sher?”Hepausesthegame.Staresatmefor,like,awholeminute.“Ijustlookather.

Ijustknow.What’swrongwithyou?Haveyougonecrazy?”Myeyesmovepasthimtothewallsofbasketballplayers.Iwanttoaskifhe

cantellthemapartwithouttheirjerseynumbersornamesontheback.WhenIlookathimagain,he’sstillstaringatme,onlyhisfeatureshaveshiftedsothathe’sbrand-new.Isay,“Nevermind.I’mjustmessingwithyou.”

IgobackintomyroomanddigouttheoldcompositionnotebookIkeephiddenawayinadrawerandstartflippingthroughit.ThisiswhereIsortout

theprojectsIbuild—drawingthem,planningthemout.Butinbetweenthebrainstormsandsketchesandblueprintsandlistsofmaterialsneeded,therearepassageslikethese:

WenttoClara’sPizzawiththefamily.Gotlostcomingbackfrombathroom.Tookmeawhiletofindthem.Dadfinallyhadtowavemedown.

IwassowipedoutafterSaturday’sgame(wewoninstraightinnings)Ididn’tevenrecognizeDamarioRaineswhenhecameuptocongratulateme.

Everyfewpages,entryafterentry.Nothingearth-shatteringoralarminguntilyoustartaddingthemup.AsI’mreadingthemnow,afeelingsettlesovermelikeablanket,butnotthewarm,comfortingkind.Morelikeathickandscratchyblanketthrownovertheheadjustbeforeyou’reshovedintothetrunkofacar.Thereissomethingwrongwithme.Ofallthepeopleintheworld,Ifeellikethegirlwouldunderstand.Isitthere

therestofthenightthinking,Ihopeshemakesit.Andeventhoughthenewsisprotectingheridentity,andallIknowisherlastname,Iwriteheralettertotellherthis,tuckitintoherfavoritebook,andgoonlinetofindthemailingaddressforthelocalhospital.

Dr.Weissisthinandtallandprobablycouldn’tgainweightifhetried.He’sworriedI’mtryingtokillmyself.Itellhim,“IfIwantedtokillmyself,therearefasterwaystodoit.”Hestandsbesidemyhospitalbedwithhisarmscrossed.Hisfaceishardto

readbecausehedoesthisthingwherehecanfrownandsmileatthesametime.Hesays,“Yourfathersaysyou’vebeenhouseboundforsixmonths.”“Itdependsonwhenyoustartcounting.Forfivemonthsandtwenty-four

days,I’vebeentoolargetogetthroughthedoor.Butmylastdayofschoolwastwoyearsago.”“Therearetwoimportantthingsweneedtounderstandhere:whyyouhad

thispanicattackandwhyyougainedtheweight.That’swhatweneedtoaddress.Itwillbeaprocessanditwilltaketime,butwearegoingtogetyouhealthyagain.”Iglanceatmydad,inthearmchairacrossfromme.HeknowsaswellasIdo

whattheWhyis.It’severythingchangingwhenIwasten.It’sthebullyingandthefear.Somuchfearofeverything,butmostlydeath.Sudden,out-of-the-bluedeath.It’salsomebeingterrifiedoflife.It’sthegiantemptinessinmychest.It’stouchingmyfaceormyskinandfeelingnothing.ThisistheWhyofmestayinghomeinthefirstplace.AndtheWhyofmeeating.AndtheWhyofmeendinguphere.Butthatdoesn’tmeanIwanttodie.

OnthedaybeforeIleavethehospital,thenursebringsmeapackage,noreturnaddress.Mosteveryoneelseissendingmeletters,notpackages,whichisthe

onlyreasonIopenit.Thatandthefactthatmydadisn’theretotakeitawaybeforeIcan.Insideisahandwrittennotewithoutanameorsignature,andacopyofmy

favoritebook.Oneofmyactualveryowncopiesofmyfavoritebook,withmyinitialsonthecoverandmyhighlightsthroughout.Ithoughtyoumightwantthis.Unliketheotherletters,thisoneisnice.I

wantyoutoknowI’mrootingforyou.Forthefirsttimeinalongtime,Itouchmyskinandfeelsomething.WhenRachelMendes—tutorandcaregiver—arrives,Ilaythebookdown

andtellherthethingI’vebeenwantingtosaybutnoonewillhear.Ipulluponeofthenewsarticlesonmynewphone,myfirstphone,theonemydadboughtmesoIcancallhimifIneedanything.Ienlargethepictureofme,takenthedayIwasrescuedfromourhouse.

“Thisgirl,”ItellRachel.“That’snotwhatIlooklike.That’snotwhoIam.”IhaveafeelingRachelwillgetthisbecauseshepretendedtobestraightallthroughhighschool,eventhoughshefiguredoutshewasalesbianwhenshewasineighthgrade.Isayitagain,“That’snotme.”Hereyeslightup.“Great.Let’sseeifwecanfindher.”

NOW

Ithrowopenmylockerbeforefirstperiod,andsomethingfluttersoutandlandsonmyshoe.It’sapieceofpaperfoldedinthirds.Istareatitforawhilebecauseit’sbeenmyexperiencethatpiecesofpaperfoldedinthirdsarenotagoodthing.Ifinallypickitupandholditinsidemylocker,wherenoonewillsee.

America’sFattestTeenRescuedfromHouse

It’sanarticlefromtheInternet,andthereIam,inablurryphoto,beingwheeledacrossthefrontlawnbyemergencyworkers.Ontheothersideisagiantpictureofmygiantfacetakenyesterdayinthe

cafeteria.Besideitsomeone’swritten,CongratulationsonbeingvotedMVBHigh’sFattestTeen!Iclosethedoorandrestmyforeheadagainstthemetalofthelockerbecause

myheadisgoinghotandIfeeldizzy,whichissometimeshowitstarts.Isthiswhatshefeltthedayshedroveherselftothehospital?Isthishowitbeganforher?Themetalcoolsmeforonlyasecond,butthenit’shotterthanmyskinand

I’mworriedI’llburnmyself.Iconcentrateonliftingmyheadtillit’ssittinguprightonmyneckonceagain.Thehallwaytilts.Iopenthelockerdoorandfocusonthejackethook,mybooks,mylittlecorneroftheuniverse.Ibreathe.

Infirstperiod,MickfromCopenhagenistalkingtome,butI’mtoobusytolistenbecauseI’mwritingmyresignationletterfromschool.

DearPrincipalWasserman,

Thankyousomuchforthiseducationalopportunity.Unfortunately,IwillnotbeabletocontinuehereatMVBHighbecauseitisoverrunbyimbeciles.

Icrossthisoutandwrite,becauseofanunfortunateepidemicofimbeciles.Unfortunateepidemicofimbecility?

IsaytoMickfromCopenhagen,“Whichsoundsbettertoyou?‘Anunfortunateepidemicofimbeciles’or‘anunfortunateepidemicofimbecility’?Ordoyouthinkitsoundsstrongertosayaplaceis‘overrunbyimbeciles’?”Helaughs,andlineslikethesun’sraysframethecornersofhiseyes.“Libby

Strout.I’mamazedbyyou.Youturnthehelloutofmeon.”Atleastthat’soneperson.

Asfarasdaysgo,thisisprettymuchtheworstoneever.Youthinkit’sfunnytoharasswomen?Youthinkbullyingisfunny?Eatingdisordersaren’tfunny,asshole.Iwanttogo,ThewholereasonIfuckingdidthiswasnottopissyoupeople

off.I’malsogettingalotof:Thatwashilarious.You’refearless,man.Goodone,dude.You’reawesome.And:Nicelip,Mass.What’stheotherguylooklike?Ohwait—theotherGIRL.Hey,Masselin,don’tpissoff[insertnameoftinyfreshmangirl],shemight

kickyourass.TheonlygoodnewsisthatIcan’ttellwho’syellingthingsatmeastheypass

meinthehall.CarolineLushampholdsmyhandbetweenfirstandsecondperiod,andwhen

someoneshoutsatmeshesays,“Justignorethem.”Suddenly,she’sthesweetCarolineofyearsago,andIconcentrateonthefeelofherhandinmine.

Throughouttheday,moreprinted-outarticlesshowupinmylocker.Itrytotellmyselftolookonthepositiveside—atleastmypeersareusingtheInternetforsomethingotherthansocialmediaandporn.Buthonestly,it’snotverycomforting.Byfourthperiod,it’sclearthateveryone,eventhejanitors,knowsmeastheGirlWhoHadtoBeCutOutofHerHouse.I’mIndiana’shighschoolversionofTyphoidMary.Ineachclass,Isitalone,likefatnessiscatching.Moonsago,whenIwasgettingallthathatemail,mydadtalkedtoan

attorneywhotoldustohangontoeverythingjustincasesomethingterriblehappened,likeIwasmurdered.Thatwaytherewouldbeapapertrailtopossiblesuspects.Newsreporter:Doyoufeelworried?Doyoufearforyoursafety?Me:Youknow,I’mgladyouaskedthat.MaybeIshouldbescaredrightnow,

butIhonestlythinkthepeoplewritingtheselettersneedtobepitiedmorethanfeared.It’sbeenmyexperiencethatthepeoplewhoaremostafraidaretheoneswhohidebehindmeanandthreateningwords.Istuffthearticlesinmybackpack.Idon’tthinkanyoneatMVBisplanning

tokillme,butyoucanneverbetoosafe.

IreturntothecafeteriaeventhoughthisisthelastplaceonearthIwanttobe.Iwalkin,andsixhundredheadsturnatonce.Sixhundredmouthsstartbuzzing.TwelvehundredeyesfollowmeasIwalk.Ifeelmybreathabandonshiplikeit’ssayingEverymanforhimself!Goodlucktoyou,you’reonyourown.Imoveonwithoutit,takingonestep,twosteps,threesteps.I’mcountingthemthewaymytrainersandcounselorstaughtmetodo.

Itisthirty-sevenstepstotheroundtablebythewindow,whereIris,Bailey,andJayveeDeCastroaresitting.Iclutchthebackofthechair,anditfeelssosolidandcomfortingthatIalmostremainstanding,grippingitwithallmymight.ButthenIlowermyselfintotheseatandsay,“Well,thatwasfun.”Baileysays,verylow,because,let’sfaceit,thepeoplearoundusaretrying

tolisten,“I’veknownJackMasselinsinceseventhgradeandIcan’tbelievehewoulddothis.Imean,okay,he’snotexactlyamodelstudent,andtherewasthatonetimejunioryear—hisjunioryear,oursophomoreyear—whenheandDaveKaminskikidnappedafreshmanandlockedhimontheroofoutsidethesecond-floorboys’bathroom—”“WaltCasey.”Jayveeshakesherhead,andherbobmakesaswishswish

sound.“PoorWalt.”Irisfreezesmidsip.“What’swrongwithWalt?”“He’sjust…off.”JayveefrownsacrossthecafeteriaataboyIassumemust

bePoorWaltCasey,sittingbyhimself.Asifhe’stryingtoillustrateherpoint,hestartspickinghisnose.Baileykeepsrighton.“ButImean,ifyou’dtoldmesomethinglikethat

happenedandaskedmetoguesswhowasbehindit,IneverwouldhaveguessedJackMasselin.Never.TherearealotofotherpeopleIwouldhaveguessedbeforehim.DaveKaminskibeingone,andSethPowell.AndtheHunts,ofcourse,andReedYoungandShaneOguzandSterlingEmery…”Onandon,namingeveryboyinthehistoryoftheuniverse.“Ithinkhe’sreallysorryhedidit.”Theylookatme.“Hewasn’tthinking.Hedidthisstupidthingandhefeelsprettybadaboutit.”Irisgoes,“You’redefendinghim?”“I’mjustcrawlingaroundinsidehisskin.”Jayveesays,“AtticusFinch.”Sheholdsupahandsowecanhigh-five.“Ifit

wasmehedidthatto,I’dgosuper-ninjaonhim.”Jayveewouldgosuper-ninjaonanyonewhopissedheroff.“Haven’tyoueverdonesomethingyouregretted?”IlookrightatBailey.Jayveesays,“Doeslastyear ’sschoolpicturecount?”Ipokeatmyfood—atthislunchmydadsocarefullyprepared—andthen

shoveitaside.Ican’teat.Notinherewhereeveryoneisstaringatme.Irissays,“DidyouhearaboutTerriCollins?She’smovingtoMinnesota.”Jayvee’shairgoesswishswishswish.“PoorTerri.”Isay,“She’saDamsel,right?”Jayveeholdsupafinger.“Was.”

Inthecafeteria,KamandSethandtheotheridiotsIcallfriendscan’ttalkaboutanythingelse.Sethisgivingthosewhomisseditaplay-by-play.“Shit,Mass,”oneoftheidiotssays,andyoucanheartheadmirationinhis

voice,seeitthereonhisface.Ihitchuponecornerofmymouth,asifI’mjusttoofuckingcooltosmile

alltheway,andholdupmyhandslike,Whatever,man,allinaday’swork.“That’swhyI’mmeandyou’reyou,baby.”IslapSethfiveandgobacktowatchingthelargegirlbythewindow,whoI’mprettysureisLibbyStrout.AtsomepointIfeelKamstaringatme.“Whatchalookingat?”“Nothing.”Heturnsandlookstowardthewindow,hangsoutthereforafewseconds,

thenturnsbacktome.“Youknow,sometimesIcan’tfigureyouout.Areyouasdickishastherest

ofus?Oristhereaheartbeatinginthatunderdevelopedchestofyours?”Ifake-grin.“Icouldn’tpossiblybeasdickishastherestofyou.”AndthisiswhyIlikeKam,inspiteofhimself.He’snodummy,and

someday,aboutfifteenortwentyyearsfromnow,hemayevenbecomeaniceguy.WhichismorethanIcansayfortherestofthem.SethandtheothersarecongratulatingmeonhowgoddamnhilariousIam,

andI’mfeelingsmallerandsmaller,whenagirlcomesover,trailedbyagroupofgirls,andtheyalllookexactlythesame.Samehair.Samelipgloss.Sameclothes.Samebodies.Theleadergoes,“Whydon’tyoupickonsomeoneyourownsize,JackMasselin?”AndemptiesherDietSnappleonmyhead.Someoneyells,“Notthehair!Anythingbutthehair!”Laughter.

Ijumptomyfeet,drippingeverywhere,andnowpeopleareapplauding.Thegirlgoesstormingaway,andKamsaystome,“Ifyou’reonlypickingonpeopleyourownsize,I’mafraidthat’sgoingtolimityoutofreshmen.”Andthenhepullsouthisflask,unscrewsthetop,and—forthefirsttimeever—offersittome.“Ihopethat’sorangejuice.”It’sawoman’svoice,overmyshoulder.I’mlookingatKam,andhegoes,“Ofcourse,Mrs.Chapman.VitaminCis

notonlycrucialtoourdevelopment,itprotectsusfromscurvy.”MonicaChapmanshakesherheadatKamandthen,infrontofeveryone,

turnstomeandgoes,“Iwantedtomakesureyou’reokay.”She’seyeingmywetclothesandthepuddleofDietSnappleatmyfeet.“I’msuper,thanks.”“Iknowtodaycan’tbeeasy.”Tohercredit,shelowershervoice,butthis

actuallymakesitworse.Likeshe’sconspiringwithme.Asifwe’retheoneswiththesecret.“There’snothingthatbondspeoplemorethanjudgingsomeoneelse,andevenwhenwe’vedonesomethingwrong,itoftendoesn’twarrantthosejudgments…”Andnowshe’stalkingabouther,notme.Ifeeltherubberbandcompressing

mycold,deadheartsnapintwo,andwithoutaword,I’mouttathere.

IescapeoutsideintothefreshairandletoutallthebreathI’vebeenholdingforthepasthour.Youreturnedtothecrimesceneandyousurvived.NowthatIcanbreatheagain,it’scominginarush,andIfeeldizzyfromsomuchoxygeninmychestandinmybrain.It’simportantIkeepmybloodpressurelowandsteady.It’samatteroflifeanddeath.Iamserious.Life.And.Death.Becausethiscouldbehowitstarts—soaringbloodpressurefollowedbydizzinessfollowedbygoodbye,Libby.Itcanruninfamilies.Likethat,thetimemachinethatlivesinmyheadteleportsmebacktothat

day.I’mstandingbesidemymom’sbedandwonderinghowsomethinglikethis—her,unconsciousinthatbed—couldhappen.“Shelookspeaceful,”mydadsaidontheridetothehospital.“Likeshe’s

sleeping.”IntheICU,mymomwasconnectedtoallthesetubesandwires,anda

machinewasbreathingforher.Ididn’tknowwhattodo,soIsatbyherandthenItookherhand,andshewasstillwarm,butnotaswarmasusual.Isqueezedherfingers,butnottoohardbecauseIdidn’twanttohurther.Herheadwasback,hereyesopen,likeshewasjustwakingup.Shedidn’tlookpeaceful.Shelookedempty.Isaid,“I’mhere.Pleasedon’tgo.Pleasestay.Wakeup.Pleasewakeup.

Pleasedon’tleaveme.Pleasepleaseplease.Ifanyonecancomeback,it’syou.Pleasecomeback.Pleasedon’tgo.Pleasedon’tleavemealone.”Becauseifshewentaway,that’swhatIwouldbe.

Outsidetheschool,theskyisamixofwhiteandblue,butthecoolairfeelslikeakissagainstmyhot,hotskin.Idigamarkeroutofmybag.Ifindablankspaceononesneaker.Iwrite:

Youjustholdyourheadhighandkeepthosefistsdown.(HarperLee,ToKillaMockingbird)Itellmybraintofocusonthegood—thefactthatnoonetriedtoridemelikeabullinthecafeteriatoday,thefactthatIseemtohavethreeactualfriends,andthefactthatTerriCollinsismovingtoMinnesota.TheDamselswillneedtoreplaceher.YetIcan’tseemtoshakethefeelingthateveryonebelongsherebutme.IthinkaboutMaryKatherineBlackwoodfromWeHaveAlwaysLivedinthe

Castle.I’vealwayslovedherandfeltsorryforherbecauseshe’squirkyandweird,justlikeme,and—I’vetoldmyself—misunderstood.ButrightnowIhavethisunsettling,someone’s-hiding-in-the-closetfeeling,likemaybeIwaswrong.Maybeit’sbetterthatshe’slockedawayfromtherestoftheworld.Maybeshe’snotcutouttolivelikeotherpeoplewithotherpeople.Maybeshebelongsinthathouseforever.

Intheoceanofpeople,Iseethisverylargegirlcomingtowardme,andit’sher—LibbyStrout.Agroupofgirlselbowseachother,andeventhoughthey’rewhispering,IcanhearthemsaysomethingaboutFatGirlRodeo.TheystareatLibby,andthat’sthemomentithitsme,squareintheface.ThisiswhatI’vedonetoher—paintedagiantredtargetonherback.Asthey’regawking,shestopsinfrontofmeandhandsmeanote.“Here.”

Thissendsthegirlsintoagigglingfit,andIcanalreadyhearthegossipmillchurning.

Afterschool,Iwalkdownaflightofstairsoffthemainhalltothecreepybasement,whichiswheretheoldbasketballcourtis,theonetheyusedyearsagobeforetheybuiltamillion-dollarsportscomplexthatseatstenthousandpeople.JackMasselinleansbackonthebleachers,legsstretchedinfrontofhim,elbowsproppedontheriserbehindhim,chattingwithTravisKearnsfromdriver ’sed,asmilinggirlwithlongbrownhair,andaboywithasmooth,shavedheadwhoIthinkisKeshawnPrice,basketballstar.They’rehangingonJackMasselin’severyword,andhelooksup,seesme,andkeepsrightontalking.Ormaybehedoesn’tseeme.AlthoughIamthelargestgirlinhere.Isitapartfromthem,onthefrontrow.Thisgymcanfitprobablysix

hundred,andthere’ssomethingaboutitthatfeelssadandneglected,which,ofcourse,itis.Witheverylaughcomingfromthegroupaboveme,Ifeelmoreandmoreinvisible.Twootherkidswanderin,butIdon’tknowtheirnames.Thegirlsitsnexttome,aboutafootaway,andtheboytakesaseatonerowup.Thegirlleansoverandgoes,“I’mMaddy.”“Libby.”“IsthistheConversationCircle?”ButrightthenMr.Levinemoseysin.“Hello,hello.Thankyouallforbeing

heretoday.”Hestopsinfrontofthebleachers,handsonhips.He’swearinganorangebowtieandmatchingorangesneakers,andexceptforthegrayhair,helookslikehecouldbeoneofus.Hesays,“Let’sgetthisoutoftheway.I’mnotgoingtotalktoyouaboutthe

importanceoftolerance,equality,andrealizingthatwe’reallinthistogether

becauseIdon’tthinkyou’restupidandcompletelylackingmoralfiber.Ithinkyou’resmartindividualswhodidreallystupidthings.Whowantstostart?”Weallsitthere.EvenJackMasselingoessilent.Mr.Levinekeepson.“How

about‘Whyareyouhere?’Therealreason,not‘PrincipalWassermanmademedothis.’”I’mwaitingforsomeonetosaysomething.Whennoonedoes,Isay,“I’m

herebecauseofhim.”AndpointatJack.Mr.Levineshakeshishead.“Actually,you’reherebecauseyouvandalized

schoolproperty,andbecauseyoupunchedhim.”Oneoftheguysgoes,“Nice.”Jacksays,“Shutup.”“Gentlemen.AndIusethattermloosely.”Mr.Levinesaystome,“Youcould

havewalkedaway.”“Wouldyouhavewalkedaway?”“I’mnottheonehegrabbed.”“Okay.”Itakeabreath.“HowaboutI’mherebecauseIlostmytemper.

Becausewhensomeonegrabsyououtoftheblueandwon’tletgo,youpanic,especiallywheneveryone’swatchingyouandnoone’sdoinganythingtohelpyou,andeverybodybutyouseemstothinkit’sfunny.I’mherebecauseIdidn’tknowifitstoppedthereorifhewasgoingtodosomethingmorethanjustholdon.”EveryoneisstaringatJack,atme.Mr.Levineisnodding.“Jack,buddy,feel

freetojumpin.”“I’mgood.”That’swhathesays.I’mgood.Loungingtherewithhisboredexpression,

andthatgiantexplosionofhair,toofullofhimselftoparticipate.“Ifhedoesn’thaveanythingtosay,I’llgoagain.”Ifthere’sanythingI’m

goodatinthisworldit’sbeingcounseled.I’vehadyearsofit,andIknowhowtotalkaboutmyselfandtheWhysofthings.Eveninfrontofaroomofstrangers.Mr.Levinesays,“Great.Thefloorisapparentlyallyours,Libby.”“Aftertheycutmeoutofmyhouse,Iwasinthehospitalforawhile,and

evenwhenIwasstrongenoughtogohome,thedoctorkeptmetherebecausehesaidIcouldn’tleavetillIunderstoodtheWhy.WhywasIthere.WhydidIgainallthatweight.”Mr.Levinedoesn’tinterrupt,butyoucantellhe’sreally,trulylistening.Sois

everybodyelse,evenTravisKearns.IkeeptalkingbecauseI’vebeenoverthisahundredtimes,somuchthatit’sbarelyapartofmeanymore.It’sjustatruththatlivesoutsidemeintheworld.Libbygottoobig.Libbywascutoutofher

house.Libbygothelp.Libbygotbetter.Ifthere’sanythingI’velearnedfromcounselingandlosingmymom,it’sthatit’sbesttojustsaywhat’sonyourmind.Ifyoutrytocarryeverythingaroundallthetime,prettysoonyouendupflatonyourbackinbed,toobigtogetuporeventurnover.“SotheWhywasalotofthings.Itwasinheritingmydad’sHulk-sizethighs

andslowmetabolism.Itwasbeingbulliedontheplayground.Itwasmymomdyingandthewayshedied,andmebeingafraidandmefeelingaloneandworrying,alwaysworrying,andDadbeingsad,andDadlovingfoodandlovingtocook,andmewantinghimtofeelbetterandalsowantingmetofeelbetter.”Iheara“Damn,girl,”fromKeshawnbeforeMr.Levinesays,“Welldone,

Libby.”Acoupleofthekidsapplaud.“Thankyou.”Forsomereason,thismeanssomething,nottheapplause,but

Mr.Levine.Whathethinksofmematters.“Iwashouseboundforawhile,soIhadalotoftimetothinkaboutit.AndI’vehadalotoftimetothinkaboutitsince.”WealllookatJack,buthesaysnothing.Mr.Levineturnsbacktome.“Sowhydidyoupunchhim?”IwanttogoLookathim.He’sperfect.He’sneverhadabadday.Okay,he

hasthisstrangedisorderthatkeepshimfromrecognizingpeople,butnoone’severcalledhimfatoruglyordisgusting.Noone’ssenthimhatemailortoldhimhewouldhavebeenbetteroffkillinghimself.Hisparentsneverreceivedhatemailjustforhavinghim.Also,hehasparents.Idoubtheknowswhatit’sliketolosesomeoneheloves.Peoplelikeus,wecan’ttouchhimbecausehe’stoogoodforyouandmeandtherestofthesekidsandthispunishment.Nottomentionhisfriendsutterlysuck.IwanttosayWhywouldn’tIpunchhim?ButIdon’treallyhaveananswerotherthan“Iwasmad.”AndIknowit’snotenoughbecauseofthelookonMr.Levine’sface.I’ve

seenitbefore.It’sthelookcounselorsgetwhentheyanalyzeyou,whentheyknowtheanswerbeforeyoudo,butthey’renotgoingtotellyoubecauseyouhavetothinkofityourself.

Whenit’smyturn,Isay,“TherealreasonI’mhereisbecauseI’mkingdouchelordoftheuniverse.”TheguywiththebowtiewhomustbeMr.Levinegoes,“InEnglish,please,

Jack.”Ihunchforwardandstareatthefloor.IlooklikeI’mtryingtocomeupwith

justtherightwords,whichIam.ButthemainreasonissoIcanavoideyecontact.SometimesIwanttoclosemyeyesandforgetthatIcansee.Becausesometimesbeingface-blindfeelsalotlikebeingregularblind.Mr.Levinesays,“What’syourWhy?”“Idon’thaveaWhy,onlyanOhShitandaWhatWasIThinking.”Icracka

grinathim,andthenIcatchLibby’seye.Istareatherandshestaresback.She’sreadmyletter.Shecanoutmerighthere.Iwaitforhertosaysomething.Whenshedoesn’t,Iclearmythroat.“Forwhatit’sworth,IwishIhadn’tdoneit.”It’sthefirsthonestthingI’vesaidallday.

Afterward,shefindsmeintheparkinglot,halfintheLandRover,phonetomyface.“Sowhendidyouputitinthere?”“What?”“Theletter.”Isayintothephone,“I’mgoingtohavetocallyouback,”andhangupon

Carolinejustasshegoes,Whoareyoutalkingto?IsaytoLibby,“WhenIgrabbedyou.”“Didyouthinkaletterwasgoingtomagicallymakeeverythingokay?”

“Didit?”“Whatdoyouthink?”“Youcan’tblameaguyfortrying.”Iflashherasmile,butsheshakesherheadandwavesafingeratmyface.

“Don’tdothat.”“Allright.Let’sbereal,then.Yousaidyou’vegotquestions.Askme

anything.”Myphonebuzzesinmypocket.“Howlonghaveyouknownaboutthefaceblindness?”“Ifigureditoutaroundfourteen.Itwasn’tthiskindofovernightrevelation,

though.Itwasmorelikethisprocess.Ihadtoputthecluestogether,soittookawhile.”“Soyoucanseemyface,butyoucan’trememberit.”“Somethinglikethat.It’snotlikefacesareablank.Iseeeyes,noses,mouths.

Ijustcan’tassociatethemwithspecificpeople.Notlikehowyou,asinLibby,cantakeamentalsnapshotofsomeoneandstoreitawayinyourmindfornexttime.Itakeasnapshot,anditimmediatelygoesinthetrash.Ifittakesyouoneortwomeetingstobeabletoremembersomeone,itcantakemeahundred.Ornever.It’skindoflikeamnesiaorliketryingtotelleveryoneapartbytheirhands.”Sheglancesdownatherhandsandthenatmine.“Sowhenyouturnaway

andthenyouturnback,you’renotsurewhoIam?”“Intellectually,Igetthatit’syou.ButIdon’tbelieveit,ifthatmakessense.I

havetoconvincemyselfalloveragainThisisLibby.Iknowthatsoundscrazy.”What’scrazyisstandingheretalkingaboutthistosomeoneotherthanmyself.“Isittrueit’shardtowatchTVormoviesbecauseyoucan’tkeepthe

charactersstraight?”“Likepeople,someshowsandmoviesareharderthanothers.Monster

moviesandcartoonsareeasy.Crimeshowsaren’tsomuch.I’malwayswondering,Where’sthebadguy?AndWhothehellisthat?”I’mlookingather,andI’mchargedwithallthiscrazy,heart-pounding

adrenaline.It’salmostasifshe’sinterviewingme,butIdon’tmindbecauseit’sthefirsttimeI’vetalkedaboutthiswithanyone,andit’skindoffeelingalotlikefreedom,likeHere’sapersonwhomightactuallybeabletogetwhoIam.“Howisit,youknow,tohaveit?”“It’slikehavingacircusinmymindandalwaysjumpingthroughhoops.It’s

likebeinginacrowdedroomwhereatfirstyoudon’tknowanyone.Always.”Hereyesgobrightandkindofintense.“Likecomingbacktoschoolfive

yearslaterandyou’retryingtofigureoutifyouknewhimorherorthem,but

everyonelooksdifferent,andsothepeopleyouknewbeforearejust…people.”“Right.Youdon’tknowtheirhistoriesanddetails,allthethingsthatmake

themwhotheyarenow.Andyou’retheonlyonewhofeelsthatway.”“Whiletherestofthemgotoclassandgotolunchlike,Oh,lookatme,I’ve

beendoingthisforever.IknowyouandIknowyouandtimeneverstopped,andhereIam.”“Yeah.”Hereyesarelargeandthelashesarelong.Thecolorofhereyesisthisvery

clearlightbrown.Likeamberorwhiskey.I’mhavingahardtimeseeingthegirlinthecraneinthisgirlhere.Eventhoughthegirlinfrontofmeisbig,she’smuchmoredelicateinperson.Shegoes,“Doyoueverwonderifit’severyoneelsewhoseestheworld

differently?Like,maybeyouseepeoplethewaythey’resupposedtobeseen?”“Identifiers.That’swhatIcallit.Everyonehasatleastonethingthatstands

out.”“Isthatwhyyourhair ’ssobig?”“Myhair ’sbigbecauseit’ssodamnawesome,baby.”Shemakesthishmmsoundasifshedoesn’tquitebelieveit,andthenshetilts

herheadtooneside,scrunchesupherforehead,andsays,“IfeellikeIknowyou.Youknow,fromwaybackwhen.”Mypulsespeedsup.Itstartsbuzzingthewaymyphoneisbuzzing.I’m

thinking,Youdon’tknowme,youdon’tknowme,likeIhavesomepoweroverhermindand,whateverhappens,shecannotfindoutIwastherethatdayshewasrescuedfromherhouse.Ifshedoesfindout,shemightthinkI’mmakingfunofherbecauseIsawherbeingrescuedfromherhouse,thatthisiswhyIgrabbedher.Shesays,“DidyougotoWestviewElementary?”“No,ma’am.”BeforeIcansayanythingelse,myphonebuzzesagain.“Doyouneedtogetthat?Someonereallywantstotalktoyou.”“Theycanwait.”She’sstillstudyingme,butfinallysheshakesherheadasifshe’sclearing

theslate.“I’mhavingthat‘IfeellikeIknowyou’feelingalotthesedays.”“You’reingoodcompany.Ormaybeshittycompany,dependingonhowyou

lookatit.”Ismile.Shealmostdoes,butstopsherself.“Withfaceblindness,IseemtoconstantlylosethepeopleIlove.”Shegoesquietforasecond.“Iknowwhatthat’slike.”Andwalksaway.

Idrivehomeandcollectmylittlebrother,andwescavengethegarageforrobotmaterials.ThisiswhereIstorethewreckagefromallthecreationsI’vebuiltandlatertakenapart.Isay,“Hey,littleman,howwasschooltoday?”“Okay.”“Realokayorfakeokay?”“Somewhereinbetween.”

ImeetRachelinthepark.Wesitonourusualbenchandshesays,“Sowhydidyoupunchhim?”BecauseI’mreadyformynormallife.Ijustwanttomoveforwardlike

everyoneelsewithoutbeinggrabbedincafeteriasasifI’msomesortofprizeheiferatarodeo.Itellmyself,Thisisthepersonyoucansayanythingto,thepersonwho

knowsyoubetterthananyone.ButallIcomeupwithis“Iwasmad.”AndthenIthinkofthreemorequestionsIwanttoaskJack.

Thenextafternoon,Mr.Levineispracticingfreethrowswhenweallwalkintothegym.Hesays,“You’rehere.Excellent.Keshawn,Travis,Jack,andLibby,you’llbeplayingNatasha,Andy,Maddy,andme.”“Playingwhat?”“Basketball,Mr.Thornburg.”AndhethrowstheballtoKeshawn,who

catchesitone-handed.“Shouldn’titbeallofusagainstKeshawn?Youknow,justtomakeitmore

even.”“Quietup,Mass.Andpreparetolose.”Keshawnsinksabasketfromthe

door,whichisnosurprise.DuringthetimeRipVanLibbywassleeping,he’sbecomeMr.Basketballthreeyearsrunning.“Thisisn’taboutwinningorlosing.It’snotacompetition.Thisisabout

teamwork.”WeallstareatMr.Levine,who’sdoingthiscrazyback-and-forthshuffle-dance,likehe’sinaboxingring.“Everyoneinthisroomneedstolearnhowtoplaywell—oratleastbetter—withothers.”

OfcourseKeshawnwinsthetip-off.Werunupanddownthecourt,andexceptforhim,weallsuck,eventheathletesamongus.It’ssadandembarrassingreally,andtheonlythingwe’relearningishowtohumiliateourselvesinfrontofourpeers.EverysingletimeKeshawnmakesabasket,heactslikehe’sjustwonthe

statechampionship.He’sbarkingordersathisteamanddribblingbehindhisbackandthroughhislegsandmakingtheseimpossiblejumpshots,andhonestlyit’slikeplayingagainstLeBronJames,ifhewereasix-foot-six-inchbaby.Atsomepoint,Mr.Levinegrabstheballfromhimandsays,“ThisisnotKeshawnhour.It’sabouthelpingoutyourteammates.It’saboutwe’reallequal.It’saboutpullingtogether.”Hesinksaperfectthree-pointer.“Takeatime-out,Mr.Basketball.”“What?”“Youcansitonthebleachersforafewminutes.It’snotgoingtokillyou.”“Man.”Keshawngoesdraggingoff,theslowesthumanonearth.Wewaitfor

himtoleavethecourt,and,twoyearslater,hefinallysitsdown.Natasharollshereyes.Shakesherheadattheceiling.Mr.Levinesays,“Ifit’llmakeyoufeelbetter,I’llsitouttoo.Evennumbers.

Whatever ’sbestforthegroup,right,Keshawn?”Keshawnlooksathim,thenpasthimatNatasha,whoraisesasingle

eyebrow.HesaystoMr.Levine,“Sure.”Sonowwe’rethreeandthree.WekeeptheleaduntilJackpassestheballto

Andy,who’sontheotherside.AfterAndyshootsandscores,Keshawnisonhisfeet.“WTF,Mass?”Onlyhedoesn’tspellitoutandheshoutsit.Mr.Levinesaystohim,“Language,”atthesametimeJackmumbles

somethingabouttheballslipping.Whenithappensagain,IthinkKeshawn’sgoingtoLOSEIT.Jacksays,“Hey,man,justtryingtodomycivicduty.”Andygoes,“Whatdoesthatmean?”Jackshrugs.Doesthiskindofcockyhalf-smile.“I’mjustsayingitlooked

likeyourteamcouldusesomehelp.”Andythrowstheballathim,alittletoohard.Nowthey’rehavingsomesort

ofstandoff,bristlingateachotherliketwocatsinanalley.“Whydon’tyoukeeptheball,Masselin?I’llgetitbackinaboutsixtyseconds.”Mr.Levinegoes,“Enough,bothofyou.Jack,stopwastingtime.”Forthenextfewminutes,AndyandJackareeachtryingtowinthegame

single-handedly.AndyisshoutingatNatashaandMaddy,andJackisn’tevenpassinganymore,justmovingtheballfromoneendofthecourttotheotherandtakingeveryshot.UntilNatashagetshimcornered,andJackhastogetrid

oftheball.ToAndy.Again.Thefollowingthirtysecondsgolikethis:AndydoesalayupandwalksbyJack,ramminghimintheshoulder.Jacksays,allsarcastic,“You’rewelcome.”Andygetsinhisfacelikehewantstotakeaswing.Jackstandsthere,likehewantsAndytopunchhim.Mr.Levinegetsinbetweenthemandrattlesoffthisspeechaboutgettingalongandplayingoutourfeelings.That’sthemomentIlookatJack,andhelooksatme.AndIknowwhat’s

goingonhere.He’sgettingAndyconfusedwithTravis.Samebuild.Sameheight.Samehair.Samecolorshirt.ItrytoimaginethatAndyandTravisarestrangerstome,thatI’mface-blind,thateverytimeIlookatthemandthenlookaway,Ihavetoputthembacktogether.Itellmyself,Letitbe,Libbs.Letnaturedowhatit’sgoingtodo.Afterall,

doesn’thedeservetobeshamedinfrontofnotonlythesepeoplebutallpeopleeverywhere?Andnowwe’replayingagain,andsuddenlyI’myellingatJack,“Hey,passit

tome.”EventhoughIamtheworstshotinthisroom,maybeintheworld.Butinsteadofpassingmetheball,hedrivesdownthecourthimself.The

nexttimehegetstheball,Ijumpupanddownandwavemyarmsinhisdirection.“I’mwideopenoverhere.”Heshootsmethislook,andIthink,Fine,ifyoudon’twantmyhelp.Butthenhe’scalledonafoul.Westandnexttoeachother,watchingMaddyshootfreethrows,andIsay,“JustgivemethedamnballbeforeMr.Levinemakesusstayanextrahour.”Aminuteorsolater,Jackthrowsmetheball.AsIstarttodribble,Maddy

stealsitaway,butwhenhethrowsittomethenexttime,Iaimforthebasket.Bysomemiracle,Imakeit.

Iholdthedooropenaseveryonefilesoutintotheparkinglot.Wewonbythirteenpoints,andKeshawniscarryingNatashalikeshe’shisNBAtrophy.AsLibbybrushespast,Ithinkofsunshine.It’shershampooorhersoap,or

maybeit’sjusther.Ithink,Didshesmelllikesunshinebeforeshewascutoutofherhouse,ordidthiscomeafter,onceshewasbackoutintheworld?Shelooksupatmeandsays,“Youshouldreallytellsomeonewhat’sgoing

onwithyou.”“Ialreadydid.”I’mirritatedbecausenowhere’sthisgirlsavingmyass.Like

Iamapersoninneedofsaving.Which,apparently,Iam.“Someoneotherthanme.It’snotlikeyou’retheonlyonewhohasthis.I

knowthatmaybewhatitfeelsliketoyou,butstatisticallyit’snotthatrare.Atleast,it’snotasrareasbeingsosuper-fatyougotstuckinyourhouse.HaveyoubeenontheProsopagnosiaResearchCenterssite?Becausetheyhavethiswalletcardyoucancarrywithyouandgivetopeopletoexplainwhatyouhave.I’mnotsayingthat’stheanswer,butmaybeit’sastart.”

IcallCarolineasI’mdrivingaway.“Hey,beautiful.”“Comeover.”“Ican’t.”“Whatdoyoumeanyoucan’t?”“I’vegotwork.”“Later,then.”“I’mbusytonight.I’lltakeyououttomorrownight.We’lldoitupbig.We’ll

paintthetown.Anightyou’llneverforget.”

“Whatareyoubusywith?OrshouldIaskwho?”“I’mbuildingDusty’sChristmaspresent.”“It’sSeptember.”“I’mbuildingit.”Shegoescompletelyquiet.“Caroline?Babe?”“Iwishyou’dnevergrabbedthatgirl.ThatLibbyStrout.”“Believeme,thatmakestwoofus.IliketothinkI’mabovethatkindof

shittybehavior,soyoucanimaginehowdisillusioningit’sbeenforme.”“Allthisdetentiontimeiseatingintoustime.It’sbeginningtoruinmylife.”Uh.IwanttosayCanyouputniceCarolineonthephone?butinsteadIsay,

“Sorry,babe.IpromiseI’llmakeituptoyou.”

MydadandIaredrivinghomeonNationalRoad,headingpastthecollege,whenthiswavecomesoverme,andIfeelthehollowinmyheartthat’sbeenthereeversincemymomdied.Lossdoesthat,hitsyououtoftheblue.Youcanbeinthecarorinclassoratthemovies,laughingandhavingagoodtime,andsuddenlyit’sasifsomeonehasreacheddirectlyintothewoundandsqueezedwithalltheirmight.Icanseemydadandmedrivinghome,thissamedirection,thatnightwelosther.Wepassusontheroad,andIcanseeourfacesthroughthewindshield.Weareghosts.Ilookatmydadnow,andheglancesatme.“Whatisit,Libbs?”Ialmostsayit.It’sher.Always.It’sthesuddennessoflifechanginginaninstantthatmakes

meanxiouswhenIsleepandmakesmetellmyselftobreathewhenI’mawake.“It’snothing.”Ilaymyfingersonmywrist,sothatitlookslikemyhandsarejustresting

onmylap,whenwhatI’mdoingischeckingmypulse.Breathe.Staysteady.Noreasontogetworkedup.“ItwasniceofBaileytocomeover.Shewasalwaysasweetgirl.”“Sheis.”“Youknowyoucanhavefriendsovertothehouseanytimeyouwant.”“Socanyou.Momwouldn’twantyoutobealone.”Icanalmosthearher.

Givemearespectablemourningperiod,Will,butdon’tstoplivingyourlife.“I’mnotalone.”Hegivesmethiscrazy-lookinggrin.“Iwon’tbehereforever.”Nooneeveris.“I’mgood.”

Idon’tfullybelievehim,though.AndthenIdecidetoletbothofusoffthehook.“Haveyoueverheardoffaceblindness?”“Faceblindness?”“Prosopagnosia.It’swhenyoucan’ttellfacesapart,soyoudon’trecognize

yourfamilyorfriends.”“Isthisforaschoolproject?”JackMasselinaskedmenottotelland,againstmybetterjudgment,Iintend

tohonorthat.“Yes,”Isay.

Insteadofcheckinginventoryorfillingorders,IsitattheMasselin’sofficecomputerandsearchforProsopagnosiaResearchCenters.Thesitesaysthey’relocatedatDartmouth,Harvard,andUniversityCollegeLondon,headedbyamannamedBradDuchaine.I’veheardofitandhim,butI’veneverreallyexploredthesite,soIspendsometimeonthere,readingmoreaboutthisthingIalmostdefinitelyforsurehave.

Notsurprisingly,prosopagnosiacancreateserioussocialproblems…

Reportsofprosopagnosiadatebacktoantiquity…Oneofthetelltalesignsofprosopagnosiaisgreatrelianceonnon-facialinformationsuchashair,gait,clothing,voice…

MostofthisIknowbynow.IvisitafewofthelinkstoFacetoFace,thebiannualnewsletter,andthenItaketheFamousFacestest,whichtestsmyabilitytorecognizecelebrities.Thepresident,Madonna,Oprah.EventhoughI’vetakentestslikethisbefore,theonlyoneIgetrightisMartinLutherKing,Jr.,andthat’sjustbecauseIguess.Iclickonthecontactpage.Ifyoubelievethatyouareprosopagnosicorhaveothertypesofrecognitionimpairmentsandareinterestedinbecominginvolvedwithresearch,pleasecontactususingourform.Wewilltrytogetyouinvolvedwithstudiesthatweareconductingorwecanputyouincontactwithresearchersinyourarea.

Iopentheemailclient,andit’sloggedintomydad’saccount.There,rightthere,whereanyonecanseeit,isanew,unopenedemailfromMonicaChapman.Sentelevenminutesago.WhileIwassittinghereresearchingmy

damagedbrain.Subject:Re:Jack.Asinme.AsinmydadandMonicaChapmanareinsomewaydiscussingme.Istareatthesubjectline,athername,atmydad’sname,atmyname.IfIopenit,here’swhatwillhappen:I’llknowmorethanIalreadydo,which

meansI’llonlybeaddingtothesecretsI’malreadycarryingaround.AndthenIopenit.AndwishIhadn’t.IsawJack,andheseemssoangry.Hasheevertalkedtoanyone?Iknowhe’sgotLevineafterschool,butmaybeyoushouldthinkaboutgettinghimsomeone-on-onehelp.Icansuggestsomebody.Thecounselorshereareactuallyprettygood,butIknowotheronesaswell.We’llfigurethisout.Youdon’tneedtodoitonyourown.Iloveyou.M.

Ilookdownandmyhandsareshaking.Iwaittospontaneouslycombust,likeKnightPolonusVorstiusofItaly,whoburstintoflameafterdrinkingtoomuchwine.WhenIdon’t,Iwrite:DearM.IfJackisangry,it’sbecauseofyouandus.Theonlythingthat’sgoingtohelphimisremovinguscompletely.MaybeIshouldstopbeingsoselfish.IfIreallylovedyou,Iwouldendmymarriageoratleastcomecleantomywife.Ioweherthat.MaybeIoweyouthattoo.Maybeourloveisthebiggestlovethere’severbeen,althoughIdoubtit.Butwhatever,Ijustneedtostopbeingsuchapussy.Nowonderhe’ssoangry.Love,N.

Idon’tsendit,butIleaveitopenformydadtosee.Idoasearchforbooksonprosopagnosiaandthebrain,andIorderevery

oneofthem,charginghiscreditcard.IsignintomyemailaccountandwritealettertoBradDuchaine.

MynameisJack.I’mahighschoolseniorandI’malmostpositiveI’mface-blind.I’mnotsurehowmuchlongerIcankeepthisup.Everyoneinmylifeisastranger,andthatincludesme.Pleasehelp.

Isendit,andimmediatelywanttotakeitback.Butnowit’soutthere.SoallIcandoiswaitandhopethatmaybe,justmaybe,thismancantellmewhattodo.

IstillhavethecopyofWeHaveAlwaysLivedintheCastlethatsomeGoodSamaritansenttothehospital.Ikeepitonthelittletablebesidemybedandusetheletterthatwassentwithitasabookmark.

IwantyoutoknowI’mrootingforyou.

Sometimesweneedtohearthat,evenfromastranger.IthinkofallthepeopleI’mrootingfor—mydad,Rachel,Bailey,Iris,Jayvee,Mr.Levine,PrincipalWasserman,Mr.Dominguez,myclassmatesintheConversationCircle,maybeevenJack.AndthenIgetoutmyDamselsapplication,readitthroughtomakesureI’ve

answeredeveryquestionandfilledouteveryline,tuckitneatlyintomybackpack,anddance.

Duringdinner,noonereallytalksexceptDusty,whowantstoauditionforhisschool’sproductionofPeterPan.Marcusisscrewingaroundwithhisphoneunderthetable,andMom’snotevenyellingathim.I’mtoobusypretendingwe’reallfriendshereandIdon’twanttoknuckle-punchmyownfather,andhe’stoobusypretendingMistress?Whatmistress?

HefindsmelaterinthebathroomwhenI’mbrushingmyteeth.Hewalksinandsays,verylow,“Youshouldn’thavegoneintomyemail.I’msorryyousawwhatyouthoughtyousaw,butthere’sthematterofrespectingmyprivacy.There’smoretoitthanyouknow,sowhatyoureadthere—it’soutofcontext.ButI’msorry.”HesaysitnicelybecauseNateMasselinisaniceguyandit’simportantfor

himtobeliked,especiallypostcancer.Icantellhe’swaitingformetoforgivehimandmoveonthewayeveryoneelsedoes,andthatpissesmeoff.Itakemytimebrushing,rinsing,wipingmymouthonatowel.Finally,I

lookathim.I’mtallerthanheisbyagoodinch,notcountingmylionfro.Isay,“Youcan’tusecancerasanexcuseforshittinessanymore.”AndofcourseI’mtalkingtometoo,althoughhedoesn’tknowthat.

IdreamthatI’mflyingfromairporttoairport,andeachoneismobbedwithpeople.Somobbed,Ican’tbreatheormove,andeveryfaceisblank—nonose,mouth,eyes,eyebrows.I’msearchingforsomeoneIknow,foranyonewholooksfamiliar,andthemoreIsearch,themoremychesttightensandthelessIcanbreathe.

ButthenIseeher.LibbyStrout.She’sloweredfromtheceilingbyacrane,largerthanlife,largerthananyone,andshe’stheonlyonewithaface.

SATURDAY

Thelockerroomisenormous.Itsmellslikefeetandpiss,orlikeTravisKearns,whosemainidentifieristhefactthathesometimesreekslikeaskunkbecauseofalltheweedhesmokes.It’sprettymuchthelastplaceyouwanttospendaSaturday.Buthereweare,thesevenofusandMr.Sweeney(enormousbelly,mullet,sideburns,slightlimp).Wespreadout,andIpurposelytakeacornerbymyselfbecauseIdon’twanttotalktoanyone.

Atnoon,webreakforlunch.Sweeneygivesusforty-fiveminutestoeatoutsideonthebleacherswe’llbepaintingnextweekend,andItakeaseatawayfromeveryoneelse.Thebleachersareoldandweatherworn,andjustthesightofthemmakesmelosemyappetite.Paintingthesebleachersisonemorethingaddedtotheshitpilethatismylife.Ipopthetoponmysodaandclosemyeyes.Thesunfeelsgood.Soakitin,bravesoldier,Itellmyself.Whileyoucan.Ialmostdriftoff,butIhearsomeoneyelling“Leavemealone,”overand

over,andit’savoiceIrecognize,bellowingandfoghorn-like.Iopenmyeyesandseeabigguylumberingpasttheschoolandthere’sthisgroupofguysfollowinghim.They’reallaroundmyage,white,kindofinterchangeable.Idon’trecognizeanyofthem,butthefoghornvoicesoundslikeitbelongstoJonnyRumsford.I’veknownJonnysincekindergarten,backwhenhewasjustRumforshort.

Hewasalwaysbiggerthaneveryoneelse,akindofgentlegiant.ForaslongasI’veknownhim,kidshavebeenfollowingRumaround,hecklinghimforbeingalittleslow,alittlesimple,alittleclumsy,likeapackofhyenastargetingabuffalo.

I’mwatchingtheseguysnow,andthey’reyellingstuffathim,eventhoughIcan’thearwhat.TheBoyWhoMayBeRum’sshouldersareallhunchedup,likehe’stryingtopullhisheadintohisneckormayberightdownintohischest.Andthenoneoftheguysthrowssomethingathimandhitshimonthebackofthehead.Suddenly,I’mseeingmyselflikeeveryoneelsedoes—I’moneofthoseheckling,yellinghyenakids,throwingthingsatpeoplewhodon’tdeserveit.Isetmysandwichdown,andItakeofflikeI’mbeinglaunchedtothemoon.

Atfirst,May/MayNotBeRumthinksI’mrunningstraightforhimandhefreezes,clearlyterrified.Theguysarelaughingandthrowingshit—rocks,trash,anythingtheycanfind—andIrunrightintotheherdofthem.Theydon’tevenhavetimetothink.Onelandsonhisassinthedirt,andsuddenlythey’renotlaughinganymore.“Didhedoanythingtoyou?”IpointatRum.“Didhe?”“Whatthehell,Mass?”Ofcoursetheyknowme.I’mprobablyfriendswiththesescumbags.“Tellmeonethinghedidtoyou.”Oneoftheguysgetsupinmyface,andhe’sastallasIamandwiderbya

coupleoffeet.ButIdon’tbackdownbecauseI’matleastthreeheadsangrier.“Seriously,Mass?You’regonnagiveusshit?Whatdidthatfatgirldotoyou?Huh?TellmeonethingShedid.”Anotherguygoes,“Yeah,how’sdetention,jackass?”Idon’tthink.Iact.MaybebecauseI’mangry.Ateveryone.Atmyself.Ifeel

likeIcouldtakeonthewholeworldrightnow.IsaytoRum,“Gohome,Jonny.Getoutofhere.”AndthenIturnaroundandpunchthefirstguyIsee.Hedropstotheground,andanotheronecomesatme,andIhauloffandpunchhimtoo.Evenwhenmyhandfeelsbroken,evenwhenIcan’tfeelmyknucklesanymore,Ikeeppoundingontheseguys.Andatsomepoint,it’sasifIleavemybodyonthegroundandfloatupintothesky,whereIwatchthefightlikeit’shappeningtosomeoneelse.Somepartofmethinks,Whatifthat’sit?Whatifwhatevermalfunctionin

mybrainthat’scausingthisfaceblindnessisspreading,sothatIcan’tevenrecognizewhereIamorwhatI’mdoing?WhatifmybrainiscompletelybrokenandInevergetbackdowntheretomeagain?I’mnotsurehowmuchtimepasses,butatsomepointI’mawareof

somethingorsomeonetuggingatmyarm.IturnaroundandI’monthegroundagain,andit’sLibbyStrout.She’syankingmeback.OneoftheguyssaystoLibby,“Don’thurtme,FlabbyStout!Don’thurt

me!”Hepretend-cringes,hishandsupinfrontofhisface.

Shegoes,“Don’tcallmethat.”“What’sthat,Flabby?”Isay,“Iknowyou’renottalkingtoher.”Allcoolandcollected.“SheknowswhoI’mtalkingto.”AndIdon’tlikethewayhesaysit,soIpunchhim.Thenthistallblackguy

withasmooth,shavedheadisthere,andhe’sglaringattheherdofhyenas.“Youbetterrun.Myboyhere,he’sgonnakillyou,andifhedon’t,Iwill.”ThiscanonlybeKeshawnPrice.Thoseboysgowalkingaway,andtheGuyWhoMustBeKeshawnstands

watchingthem.“Son,you’reasstupidasyoulook.”He’sstaringatme.“WhatdoyouthinkSweeneywouldhavedoneifhesawyou?”“He’sinside.Hedidn’tsee.Comeon.”Libbypullsmetowardthebleachers.

“Yourlip,”shesays.“It’sbleedingagain.”ButIdon’tevenremembergettinghit.Ilookbacktowardthestreet,and

RumiswanderingacrossthebridgethatIknowwilltakehimhome.

We’vegotfifteenminutesleftoflunch,andJackMasselindropsontothebleachers,lipbleedingontohisshirt.Ashestaresoffintothetreeline,I’mwatchinghim,tryingtoputmyselfinhisskinagain.IthinkaboutgoinghomeandwhatitwouldbelikeifmydadwalkedinandI

couldn’trecognizehim.OrifmymommiraculouslycamebackfromthedeadandIdidn’tknowitwasher.IfI’mputtingmyselfintheskinofJackMasselin,I’mfeelingprettylonely.Andmaybescared.HowwouldIknowwhototrust?Isitdownbesidehimandsay,“It’sLibbyagain.”EventhoughIprobably

don’tneedtobecauseit’sprettyobviousinthisgroup,eventosomeonewithfaceblindness.He’sstaringoutatthestreet,likehe’sitchingforanotherfight.Thebloodis

drippingdownhischinandontohisshirt,andhe’snotdoinganythingtowipeitaway.Ihandhimanapkin.“Nothanks.”“Takeit.Youdon’twantSweeneytosee.”Heswipesathischinwiththenapkin,wincesalittle,andthenholdshissoda

canagainstitlikeanicepack.Hecocksaneyeatme.“Wasthataboutme?”“What?”“‘FlabbyStout.’DidIdothat?Withtherodeo?Iwanttoknowexactlyhow

shittyIshouldfeelrightnow.”“Thatwasn’taboutyou.ThatwasaboutMosesHuntbeingMosesHunt—the

exactsameMosesHunthewasinfifthgrade.”“MosesHunt.Great.”

TheHuntbrothersareasnotoriousastheJamesGang.Thereareatleastfiveofthem,maybemore,becausetheirparentsjustbreedandbreed.Age-wise,Mosesfallssomewheretowardthebottom,althoughhelooksfortythankstoallthehardliving,themissingteeth,andthefactthathe’ssomean.Jacksays,“Areyouokay?”“Wejusthavehistory.PartofmewishesI’dletyoukillhim,butotherwise

yes,I’mokay.”Rattled,butokay.Heartpounding,chestclenching,butokay.“Thanksforstandingupforme.”Jackshakeshisheadandstaresofftowardthestreetagain.Wesitthereaminute,Jackwatchingthestreet,mewatchinghim.FinallyIsay,“Ifyou’renotcareful,you’regoingtorunintosomeoneangrierthanyou.”“Idoubtthatpersonexists.”Andthisisn’tcharmingJackMasselin.Thisisa

boywhoisburdenedbylife.Imakemyselfsitthere,insidehisskin.IdoitforAtticusandformymom.“Ifyou’renotcareful,you’lleattoomuchandgetstuckinyourhouse.Trust

me.Youthinknooneunderstandsandyou’realone,andthatmakesyouangrier,andWhydon’ttheyseeit?Whydoesn’tsomeonesay,‘Hey,youseemburdenedbytheworld.Letmetakethatburdenforawhilesoyoudon’thavetocarryitaroundallthetime.’Butit’sonyoutospeakup.”AndthenIshout,“Speakupifyou’vegotsomethingtosay!”Theotherdelinquentsturnandstareatme,andIwave.“You’reaverywisewoman.”“Iam,actually.You’dbeamazed.ButI’vehadalotoftimetoreadandwatch

talkshowsandthink.ALOT.Somuchtimetothink.SometimesallIdidalldaywasjustwanderaroundinmymind.”“Sowhatmakesyouangry?”“Stupidpeople.Fakepeople.Meanpeople.Mythighs.You.Death.Gym

class.Iworryaboutdyingallthetime.Like,allthetime.”Heshiftsthecansohecanseemebetter.“MymomdiedwhenIwasten.Shegotupthatmorninglikeitwasanyother

morningandIwenttoschoolandmydadwenttowork,andIonlytoldherIlovedherbecauseshesaiditfirst.Shedroveherselftothehospital.Shewasfeelingdizzy.Bythetimeshegotthere,shewasn’tfeelingdizzyanymore,butthedoctorsorderedsometestsanyway.”Hesetsthesodacandownbutdoesn’tsayaword.“Oneminuteshewastalkingtothem,andthenextminuteshewasn’t.Itall

happenedinaninstant.Conscious.”Isnapmyfingers.“Unconscious.Thedoctorssaidthethingthatcauseditwasacerebralhemorrhageintherighthemisphereofherbrain.Somethingjustburst.”

“Likeananeurysm?”“Kindof.Iwaspulledoutofassembly,andmydadcametogetme.Wewent

tothehospitalsoIcouldsaygoodbye.Mydadhadtotellthemtoturnoffthemachines,andhalfanhourlater,shedied.Oneofthenursessaidtome,‘Itcanruninfamilies.’SoIwasconvinceditwasgoingtohappentome.Itstillmight.”Icheckinwithmyheartrate.Yes,itseemsokay.“Iwenttobedthatnightthinking,Lastnightshewashere.Thismorningshewashere.Nowshe’sgone,andnotforafewdays,butforever.Howcansomethingsofinalhappeninaninstant?Nopreparation.Nowarning.Nochancetodoallthethingsyouplannedtodo.Nochancetosaygoodbye.”HiseyebrowsaredrawntogetherinaV,andhe’slookingatmelikehecan

seestraightintomyheartandsoul.“Nowyou’retheonlyonewhoknowssomethingaboutme.”“I’msorryaboutyourmom.”“I’msorrytoo.”IstareatmylunchandrealizeI’mnothungry.Inolden

times,Iwouldhaveeateneverylastbitebecauseitwasinfrontofme.“Ithinkthatmakesuseven.”“Doesit?”“You’renotpunchingme,ifthat’swhatyou’rethinking.”Helaughs.“It’snot.”Inaminutehegoes,“Whatdoyourshoessay?”Iholdmylegouttoshowhim.“JustquotesIlikefrombooks.”Hepointsatthemostrecentone,writteninpurplemarker,theonethatsays,

Moreweight.“WherehaveIheardthat?”“GilesCorey.FromTheCrucible.Hewasthelastpersonputtodeathinthe

Salemwitchtrials.Thosewerehisfinalwords,akindofFUtothepeoplewhowerepressinghimtodeathwithstones.”Mr.Sweeneyappearsandyellsforustogetbackinside.Aswe’recollectingourtrashandwalkingtowardthedoors,Jackgoes,

“Mosesandwhoelse?”“TheonesbullyingJonnyRumsford?”Henods.“HisbrotherMalcolmand

alsoReedYoung.”“Malcolm?”NowInod.“Shit.He’sthemeanestofthemall.”“Ithinktheothertwomustbeseniors.”“Thanks.”Heshoveshishandsinhispockets.“You’rewelcome.”Thelightcatcheshiswild,wildhairandholdsit.Andwham!Suddenly.Justlikethat.

I’mcompletelyconsciousofhisguynessnexttome.Hislonglegs.Thewayhewalks,fluid,easy,likehe’smadetowalkthroughwater.Butatthesametimewithpurpose,whichmakeshimseemtallerthanheis.Therearen’talotofguysmyagewhowalklikethis.Withswagger.It’sasifI’vesuddenlydiscoveredhe’smale.Myfaceishotandmybackis

dampandI’mthinkingaboutPaulinePotter,sexingoffallthatweight,andI’mstaringathishandsandI’mlike,Stopstaringathishands.Whatareyoudoing?He’stheenemy!Well,maybenottheenemy,butyouareabsolutelynotgoingtothinkofhimlikethat.Irealizehe’stalkingandsoIcomezingingbacktoattention.He’ssaying,“I

wantyou,LibbyStrout.I’vealwayswantedyou.It’sthereasonIgrabbedyou.”Ormaybehe’sactuallysaying,“Youcan’ttell,butI’msmilingonthe

inside.”Isay,“I’msmilingback.”Itrytokeepmyfaceablank,eventhoughIdon’t

haveasplitlip.ButIcan’thelpit.Forsomereason,Ismilesoeveryonecansee.

It’smidnightwhenIwalkCarolinetoherdoor.Onthestep,Igrabherbyherwaistandpullherin,andherbodyisrigid,likeshe’smadeofbroomhandlesandmarble.Iwanttoaskherwhatitisthatmakesherlikethis,alluptightandcontrollingandmean.IwonderwheregeekyCarolineisrightnow,iftheotherdaywasrealoraflukeandthisnewer,shinierCarolinehasreallyswallowedherwhole.Isthereanyoneinthere?Iwanttosay.InsteadIpullherintighterandwrapbotharmsaroundher,andtrytosqueezegeeky,awkward,niceCarolineoutofthere.“Ow,”shesays.“Youalwaysdothattoohard.”Shepushesmeoffher.

“Peoplemightlikehermoreifshedidn’thavesuchachiponhershoulder.”“Who?”“LibbyStrout.”ShehasbeentalkingaboutLibbyallnight—atdinner,during

themovie,ontheridehome.Ilaughbecause,comingfromCaroline,thisishilarious.“Whyisthatfunny?”“It’snot.Butyouknow,pot.Kettle.”“No,Idon’tknow.”Shecrossesherarms.“Tellmemore.”Smoothitover.Tellherwhatshewantstohear.ButIdon’tbecausesuddenlyIcan’tdoitanymore.She’sexhaustingandI’m

exhausting,andwe’reexhausting.I’vebeentellingherwhatshewantstohearforthepastfouryears.Isay,“Youknowwhat?I’lltalktoyoulater.”“Ifyouwalkaway,Jack,don’tcomeback.Youdon’tgettodothatandcome

back.”

“Thanks.Gotit.”Ifeelthisweirdnervousenergy,likeI’mdoingsomethingbigandlife-

altering.Itellmyself,Youneedher,asIgetbackintotheLandRoveranddriveaway.

Iheadstraighttothescrapyard,whereIjumpthefenceandwanderthroughandnoonebothersmebecauseit’slateanddarkandI’mtheonlyonehere.It’samazingwhatyoucanfind—oldlicenseplates,oldscrews,ametalbumper.Forme,thegreatestitemofallisgears.Whetherthey’resmallorbig,itdoesn’tmatter—gearsarelikethepowersourceforalmostallmachines,thethingthatdecidestheirforceandspeed.Idigforawhile,andit’speaceful,likeI’mtheonlylivingsoulformiles.

Butmymind’snotinit.Myheart’snotinit.Toomuchofmylifefeelslikethisalready—tryingtorecyclesomethingoldintosomethingnewandbetter,disguisingsomeoneelse’strashassomefresh,shinything.

Inthedrivewayofmyhouse,Ipulloutmyphone.ThirteentextsandonevoicemailfromCaroline,sentoverthepasthour.AtextfromKam.AnotherfromSeth.Iopenmyemailandwaitforittoload.I’mthinkingaboutLibbyStroutwhenIseeit.Theemail.Deliveredat6:35p.m.AreplyfromBradDuchaineoftheProsopagnosiaResearchCentersat

Dartmouth.

MONDAY

Beforefirstperiod,HeatherAlpernandtheDamselsarerunningdrillsonthefootballfield.Istandonthesidelinesandwatchthem,andIcan’tmovebecausetheretheyare.I’mstarstruck.TheDamselsaresixty-fiveyearsoldthisyear.Theywereoriginallycreatedbytwostudentswholovedtodance,andthefirst-everteamwasmadeupoftwentygirls.Theyworeskirtstotheirknees,whichsomepeoplefoundshocking,andwhitegloves,andtheyperformedwithpom-pomsandflags.Nowtherearefortymembers,thirty-ninewithoutTerriCollins.Attheendoftheschoolyear,everyoneinAmoswillturnoutfortheDamselsShowcase,whichisheldinCivicAuditorium,thetown’sperformingartscenter.AndIwanttobeonthatstage.

I’minagoodmooduntilthirdperiod.Afterall,IhavefacedMosesHuntwithouttheskyfalling.I’vemadeupmymindtobeaDamsel.AndI’vewalkedaroundinJackMasselin’sskinandbeen,yes,thebiggerperson.I’mpracticallywhistlingasIgotomylocker.Irisfollowsme,wantingto

knowwhyI’msohappy.AndthenIopenthedoor.Thelettersfalloutlikeconfetti.Theyareeverywhere,acrossthehallway,

likeacarpet.Peoplearetramplingthemastheypass,andI’monmykneestryingtocollectthembeforeanyonecanseethemandconnectthemwithme.Irisbendsover,helpingme.Sheopensoneupandreads,“‘Youaren’t

wanted.’”Sheopensanother.“‘Youaren’twanted.’”Igrabthelettersfromhersoshewon’tstandtherereadingeverysingleone.Theremustbeahundredofthem.“Aretheseforyou?”“That’smyguess,NancyDrew.”

“Whowoulddothis?”ButIknowit’srhetoricalbecauseIrisEngelbrecht,morethananyoneelse,

knowswhatpeoplearecapableof.WhenIdon’tanswer,shesaysinhermatter-of-factEeyorevoice,“Youneed

totellsomeone.Takethemtotheprincipal.Comeon.I’llgowithyou.Let’sgorightnow.Theycanwriteusapassfornextperiod.”I’mstuffingthelettersintomybackpack.“I’mnotgoingtotheprincipal

withthis.”AndIsoundashurt,angry,andupsetasIfeel.“Weren’tyoutheonewhotoldmetobebrave?”“Inevertoldyoutobebrave.”“YoutoldmeifIdidn’tspeakup,DaveKaminskiwouldthinkhecouldgo

ondoingthingslikethattome.”“Thisisdifferent.”“No,it’snot.Youhavetoletthemseetheycan’tdothistoyou.Let’sgo.”Icanfeeltheflutteringinmyheartstarttosteadyitself.Thisisanothereffect

Irishasonaperson.She’sthehumanequivalentofValium.Islamthelockerdoorclosed,shouldermybackpack,andstartwalking,the

weightofallthoselettersdrillingmeintotheground.Iristrudgesalongbehindme,stilltalking.“Okay,Igetit.Iguessyoucanlookonthebrightsideinstead.Itwon’tlastforever.Eventuallythey’llfindsomeoneelsetofocuson,andthenthiswholeFatGirlRodeothingwillbeforgotten.”Asifoncue,agroupofboysgoesby,holleringinmydirection.Thingslike

“Saddleup,fellas!Whowantsaturn?”“Bastards.”ThisisfromIris,becauseinsteadofspeakingI’mdoingthe

thingIusedtodowhenIwasyounger—tryingtowillmyselfsmall,asifbyconcentratingreally,reallyhardImightstartshrinkinguntilI’mthesamesizeaseveryoneelse.Anacceptablesize,whateverthatis.Onethatwon’tmakeallotherpeoplefeelsouncomfortable.Irisbumpsmyarmwithhers,asifshe’stryingtoremindmeshe’sthereand

I’mnotalone,butforsomereasonitticksmeoff.Inevervolunteeredtobehersaviorandprotector.Ican’tevenprotectmyself.ShestartssingingtheCowardlyLion’s“IfIOnlyHadtheNerve”versefromTheWizardofOz,andasirritatingasitis,Ihavetoadmitshe’sgotareallyprettysingingvoice.Bump.Bump.Bump.Istopwalking.“Whydoyouwanttobemyfriendanyway?”Italkrightover

hersinging.“IsitbecauseIstoodupforyouthatday?IsitbecauseImakeyou

feellessfreakishbycomparison?Orisitbecausewhenyou’rewithmeeveryoneleavesyoualoneforonceandfocusesonme?”Hereyesgowideandthennarrow,andIrisEngelbrechtisstaringatmelike

shethinksI’mabastardtoo.“It’sbecausewhenyou’renotbeingajerk?Likethis?Ilikeyou.Becauseexceptforthatjerkiness?You’rewhoIwanttobe.”Andshewalksaway.“Beggarscan’tbechoosers,”KendraWucrowsasshestrollsbywith

CarolineLushamp.Istandthere,myhandontheclassroomdoor,andyell,“What’sthat

supposedtomean?”They’restillheadingawayfromme,butCarolineturnstofaceme,as

gracefulwalkingbackwardassheiswalkingtheregularway.“Whatshe’stryingtosayisthatyoumightnotwanttoburnyourbridgeswhenyou’restandingonanisland.”AndthenshesmilesthemeanestsmileI’veeverseen.

Indriver ’sed,Mr.Dominguezsays,“Libby?Wheneveryouwanttojoinus.”“Sorry.”Istopstaringintospace.Baileypassesmeanote.Areyouokay?Insteadofanswering,IsitthereandpretendI’mpayingattention,andeven

whenMr.Dominguezsays,“Nextweek,we’rereadytostartdriving”—themomentI’vebeenwaitingforallmyshort,sadlife—it’slikeI’msittinginanotherroom,atanotherschool,far,faraway.

I’minthebathroomafterthirdperiodwhentwoguyswalkin,bothwhite,bothnondescript,exceptthatoneisafuckingmountainandtheotherisaboutmyheight.Theyshutthedoor.ThisisbadnewsbecauseforaslongasI’vebeenatMVB,thatdoorhasneverbeenclosed.“What’sup?”Idotheheadnod,actcasual,buteventhoughIcan’trecognize

theirfaces,Irecognizetheemotion.They’remadashell.Isauntertowardtheexit,tryingtolookascarefreeasonecaninthisparticularsituation,butthesmalleroneblocksmyway.“Whenyoumessedaroundwithmygirlfriend,Iletitgo,butwhenyoujump

meandmyfriendsfornoreasonandtrytobeatthelivingshitoutofus?Youdon’tdothat,man.Youdon’tscrewwiththepeopleIlove.”Thistellsmeit’salmostdefinitely(probably)ReedYoung,andthatright

therebehindhimisdefinitely(probably)MosesHunt.I’mfeelingrecklessenoughtogo,“Soyou’resayingyoulovehim?”InodatMoses.Andtheybothlungeforme.Ican’taffordanotherfight,soIduckand

ProbablyReedgoessprawlingwhileProbablyMosesricochetsintothewall,andthenIthrowopenthedoorandI’moutofthere.Idon’trun.Hellno.ButIburnapathinthefloorallthewaydownthehall.Foraslongaspeoplehavebeenaround,we’vereliedonfacialrecognition

forsurvival.Backincavemantimes,whetherapersonlivedordiedcouldcomedowntobeingabletoreadaface.Youhadtoknowyourenemy.AndhereIam,barelyabletomakeitoutalivefromahighschoolbathroom.

Mr.Levine(electric-bluebowtie,electric-bluesneakers)issittingontheriserswaitingforusaswewalkintotheoldgym.Wetakeourusualseatsandafterwehaveachancetogetsettled,hebouncestohisfeet.“We’regoingtotrysomethingdifferent.”Whichiswhathesayseveryday.Sofar,we’vesungsongs,runakindofobstaclecourse(stoppingateach

stationtotalkaboutaspecificfeelingorwaysinwhichwemightchangeourbehaviors),andperformedascenefromaStarTrekepisode(abouttwoenemieshavingtoworktogethertosurvive).Mr.Levinecallsthese“teen-buildingexercises.”Butthistimehewalksoutofthegym.Wewait.WhenMr.Levinedoesn’treturn,TravisKearnssays,“Canwe

leave?”Andthenthegymgoesdark,theonlylightcomingfromthesenarrow

windowswayupbytheceiling.Asecondlater,theroomstartsspinningwiththesespiralingglobesoflight—pink,orange,green,yellow,blue.It’swhatIimagineaEuropeandiscowaslikebackinthe1970s.“Whatthe—”ButTravisdoesn’tfinishbecauseasongboomsoutoverthespeakersystem,

soloudIalmostcovermyears.It’sthesappiesteightiesballadyou’veeverheard,andallthat’smissingisaDJandacorsagepinnedtomyshirt.Mr.Levinecomesbackinandsays,“Onyourfeet.”Hewaveshishandslike

he’ssomesortofconductorandwe’rehisorchestra.“Up.Up.Time’sa-wasting.Let’sworkonbuildingthatself-esteem.”

Onebyone,westand.KeshawnandNatashakindofjokinglystartslow-dancing.Whentheystop,Mr.Levinesays,“Keepgoing.Yes,it’sreallythatsimple.Nowtherestofyou.”TravisKearnsasksMaddy,who’sprettybutshy.Shestaresatherfeetthe

wholetime.Eventhoughtherearen’tenoughgirlstogoaround,nooneasksme.AndyThornburgstartswaltzingwithaninvisiblepartnerbecausedancingaloneisapparentlybetterthandancingwithme.Mychestflutters,thefirstsignofpanic.Mr.Levinesays,“Askhertodance,Jack.”“What?”“Youheardme.”JacklooksatmeandIlookathim.“Beforethesongends,please.”Wekeepstandingthere,andnowmypalmsaredamp—thesecondsignof

panic.Thenextthingwillbethisstrangecompressioninmychestandhead,asifI’mbeingsqueezedbyagiantboaconstrictor.Gradually,everythingwillgrowdimanddistant,andI’llshrinkuntilI’maregular-sizeperson,andthenkeepshrinkinguntilI’msmallenoughtosquashundersomeone’sshoe.Finally,Mr.Levinepullsoutthisremoteandclicksit,andthesongstarts

over.Everyonegroans.“Icandothisallday.Myphoneisfullycharged,andtherearealotmoresongsjustlikethisonthere.Worseones,even.”IlookatJackandhelooksatme,andthelightsareflashingacrosshisface,

turninghiseyesgreen,brown,blue,gold,likehe’sachameleonchangingcolors.Heoffershishand.Itakeit.Becausewehaveto.ThisisnotthewayI

imaginedmyfirstschooldance.Wefumbleourhandstogetherandstandasfarapartaspossible,like

someone’sholdingaruler—morelikeayardstick—betweenus.Weshufflebackandforthasifwe’rebothmadeofwood,staringattheceiling,thefloor,thewalls,theotherkids,anywherebutateachother.Thesongonlygetscheesierasitgoeson,andthelightsareswirlingand

strobing,andhiseyesareflashinggreen/brown/blue/gold,andsuddenlyI’mthinkingaboutmypalms.Likehowsweatytheyare.IcanjusthearJackMasselingoingbacktohisfriends,tellingthemallaboutmysweatypalmsandwhatitwasliketodancewiththefatgirl.Jacksays,“Thismayscaremeoffschooldancesforever.”Myfirstinstinctisthathe’stalkingaboutmeormaybemydamphands,soI

go,“Well,I’mnotexactlyhavingthetimeofmylife.”

“Ididn’tmeanyou’rescaringmeoff.Althoughyou’rekindofscaringmeoffnow.”“Sorry.”AsIrealizehemeansthesongandthelightsandMr.Levine,

standingthereliketheworld’smostattentivechaperone.We’renowkindofswaying,andit’snotsobad.It’sthefirsttimewe’ve

touchedwhereIwasn’teitherpunchinghimorstoppinghimfrompunchingsomeone.Isay,“Thisismyfirstschooldance.”“Ah.”“Well,it’stheclosestI’veevercome,atleast.Nottoputanypressureon

you.”“Nopressure.Justextremeperformanceanxiety.Everyguy’sdream.”“You’renotaterribledancer.”“Myconfidenceissoaringnow.”“It’sjustnotexactlyhowIpicturedit.”“Okay,sowhatcanIdotochangethat?”“Uh…”“Youlookreallyprettytonight.”Inthesecondittakesmetorealizehe’splaying,mylegsgrowintothefloor

likeroots.Jacktightenshisgriponmeandkindofnudgesmeintomotionagain.Hesays,“Especiallyinthatdress.Thecolorreallybringsoutyoureyes.”“Uh.”Think.“ThesalesclerkcalleditHersheybrown.”Ugh.What?“Actuallymorelikeamber.”Andhe’slookingintomyeyesasifI’mtheonlythinghesees.Itellmyself,

He’ssuchagoodactor,astheselittlegoosebumpsspringoutatthebaseofmyspineandgoshootingupmyback,acrossmyshoulders,anddownbotharms.Suddenlywe’redancingcloser,andI’mawareofnotjusthishandsbuteach

individualfingerconnectingtomybodyandhislegsbumpingagainstmine.Iwanttoleaninandgetawhiffofhimandrestmyheadonhisshoulderormaybemakeoutwithhisneck.Afterwardhe’llwalkmehomeandkissmeonthedoorstep,sweetatfirst,andthenhungrierandhungriertillwefallintothebushesandgorollingoffacrosstheyard.Allatonce,thesongendsandafastsongbegins,andmyeyesflyopen.We

immediatelybreakapart,andJackwipeshishandsonhisjeans.Ack.Mr.Levinegoes,“Don’tstop!It’sadance-off.Go,go,go!”Andhe’s

dancinglikeacrazyman.Foramoment,allwecandoisgawpathim.Imean,it’saspectacle.Themanisalllegsandarmsandfloppinghair.“Thelonger

youdon’tdance,thelongerwe’rehere.I’mgettingatleastthreesongsoutofyou.”Andhestartsitover.JackMasselingoes,“Shit.”Andthenbeginstomove.Ofcourse,Ithink.Of

coursehecandance.Becausehe’stheirleader,theyallstartdancing.FirstAndyandthenKeshawn,Natasha,Travis,andevenMaddy.JackMasselinisnotmyleader,soI’mstillstandingthere.Onceagain,Mr.Levinestartsthesongover.“I’mgoingtokeepdoingthat

tillwe’reallmoving.”It’sonethingtotwirlinthenear-emptyparkwithRachel,butit’sanotherto

startshakingandjumpingonschoolpropertyinfrontofmycounselorandmyfellowclassmates,delinquentsthoughtheymaybe.Inthatmoment,myDamselsdreamwaversbecausetheauditionwillbesomuchworse.TheauditionmeansHeatherAlpernandhersquadcaptains—includingCarolineLushamp—sittingatatable,watchingme.IfI’mabletogetpastthepotentialhumiliationofthatmoment,howwillIeverperformincostumefortheschool?Butahhhhhhh,thissong.It’sso…IrealizeI’mkindoftappingmyfootand

bouncingmyhead.No,Ithink.Libby,youcan’t.Butthesongis…ohmyGod.Ifeelmyhipsstarttomovealittle.No,no,no.Don’tdoit.ButI’malive.I’mhere.Weneverknowhowlongwehave.We’reneverguaranteedtomorrow.Icould

dierightnow,righthere.Itcouldbeoverinaninstant.Shewokeuplikeitwasanyotherday,justlikeIdid,justlikeDaddid.We

thoughtitwasaregular,normalday.Noneofusknewwewerewakinguptotheworstday.Ifwe’dknown,whatwouldwehavedone?Wouldwehaveheldontohertightandtriedtokeepherhere?Thesongstartsover.Keshawngoes,“Comeon,Libby.Damn.”WhatwouldMomwantmetodorightnow?Ifshecouldseeme,whatwould

shesay?AndthenJackMasselinissuddenlybreakingoutthesemoves,Keshawnand

Natashaaredoingsomesortofroutine,andMr.Levineiskickinghislegsoutlikehe’sHeatherAlpern,formerRockette.EvenshylittleMaddyisshakinghershoulders.Staystill.Waitoutthesong.Don’tyoudoit,Libby.ButIcanfeelmybodytakingovermymind,andthisiswhathappens.The

danceisinme.AllatonceI’minthere,wavingmyarms,wavingmybooty,swingingmyhair.Ijumpalittle,andwhenthegymfloordoesn’tcollapse,Ijumpsomemore.

Jackstartsjumpingtoo,andbeforeIcanstopmyself,Ispinoffintoatwirl.Jackshouts,“What’sthatdancecalled?”IsaythefirstnameIthinkof:“TheMerry-Go-Round!”Itwirlandtwirl,andthenMr.LevineistwirlingandJackistwirlingandall

theothersaretwirling,justlikethelights,untilthegymturnsupsidedown.

HeatherAlpernisstillinheroffice.Shesays,“Libby,isn’tit?”Hervoiceiswarm,likehoney.“IheardthatTerriCollinsismoving,andIwonderediftherewasgoingto

beanauditionfortheDamsels.”I’mstillflushedandentirelyelectrifiedfromthedancing.Iwanttoclimbontoherdeskandmakeitmystageandauditionrighthere,rightnow,butinsteadIhandhermyapplication.“Thankssomuchforthis.”Shesmiles,andIhavetolookawaybecause

she’sjustthatlovely.“I’llbeannouncingtryoutsnextweek.”

Outside,it’sstartingtorain.Theparkinglotisemptyandmydadisn’tthere,soIstandupagainstthebuildingwhereIwon’tgetwet,eventhoughthelastthingIeverwanttodoisstandagainstabuildinglikeI’mfifth-gradeLibbyStrout,banishedfromtheplayground.Inaminute,thisoldJeep-lookingthingcomesrollingup.Thedriver ’s

windowrollsdownandJackMasselinsays,“Needaride?”“No.”“Doyouwanttoatleastwaitinhere?”“That’sokay.”Butthentheskycracksintwoandwatercomesfloodingdown.Irunforthe

car,andhethrowsopenmydoor,andIclimbinasgracefullyaspossible,whichunfortunatelymeansI’mslippingandslidingallovertheplace,shoessqueakingagainstthefloormat,hairstickingtomyface.IslamthedoorclosedandhereIam,pantingandenormousandsoakedtotheskin,inthefrontseatofJackMasselin’sLandRover.I’mconsciousofeverythingdripping.Myhair,myhands,myjeans.ThisisoneofthosetimeswhenIcanfeelmyselftakinguptoomuchspace.Isay,“Nicecar.”Theinteriorisakindofburntorange-red,butit’sallpretty

basicandrugged.Onethingisclear,though:Iaminthevehicleofacoolguy.“Itlookslikesomethingyou’dtakeonsafari.”“Thanks.”“Truck?Car?Whatdoyoucallitexactly?”“Howaboutthebaddestmo-foinAmos?”“Let’snotgocrazy.”

I’mgettingtheheatergoingandnowthewindowsarefogging.Shesays,“Ithoughteveryonewasgone.”“Iwasdrivingawayandsawyoucomeout.Ithoughtyoumightneedaride

oratleastsomeshelter.”“Mydad’susuallyontime.”Shepullsoutherphoneandchecksit,andIcan

seetheworryinher,eventhoughshe’stryingtoblinkitaway.“He’llbehere.”Wesitwatchingtherainpourdown.Themusicisplayinglowandthe

windowsaresteaming.IfthiswasCaroline,we’dbemakingout.AndthenI’mthinkingaboutmakingoutwithLibbyStrout.Whatthehell?Itellmyself,ThisisthegirlyousawLIFTEDOUTOFHERHOUSEBYA

CRANE.ButthenI’mthinkingaboutmakingoutwithheralittlemore.StopthinkingaboutmakingoutwithLibbyStrout.Igo,“Letmeaskyousomething.Iftherewasatestyoucouldtaketofind

outifyouhavewhatyourmomhad,wouldyoutakeit?”Shetiltsherheadtoonesideandstudiesthedash.“Aftershedied,mydad

tookmetoseeaneurologist.Hesaid,‘Icanrunabatteryoftestsonyoutoseeifyouhaveanyaneurysmsinyourbrain.Ifyouhavethem,there’sachancewecanpinthemoffsotheydon’tbecomeproblemsdowntheline.Butthere’snoguaranteethatthey’llbefixable.’MydadandIwenthomeandtalkedaboutit.Iwastooyoungtounderstanditall,sohewastheonewhomadethedecision.”“Didyoudoit?”

“No.”“Whataboutnow?Wouldyoudoitnow?”“Idon’tknow.”Andeventhoughwe’retalkingaboutaneurysms,I’mstillthinkingabout

makingoutwithher.SoIsay,“Jesus,woman,youcandance.”Shesmiles.Ismile.Shesays,“IjusthandedinmyDamselsapplication.”“Really?”Shearchesaneyebrow.“Sorry,isthatshockingtoyou?”“OnlybecauseIcan’tpictureyoudancinginformation.I’mnotgettingthe

wholewielding-flags-and-wearing-the-same-costume-as-thirty-other-girlsvibe.Iseeyouasado-your-own-thinggirl.Ifyouaskme,you’rebetterthantheDamsels.”“Thanks.”Sheunzipsherbackpackandpullssomethingout,andatfirstitlooks

innocent—justacrumpled-upsheetofwhitepaper.ButthenIreadwhat’swrittenthere:Youaren’twanted.“Wheredidyougetthis?”“Mylocker.”“Doyouknowwhoputitinthere?”“No.Butdoesitmatter?”AndIknowwhatshemeans.No,itdoesn’t.Notreally.Thepointisthatit

wassentatall,thatanyonewouldthinkthatorsaythattoher.“Peoplecanbegreat,buttheycanalsobelousy.Iamoftenlousy.Butnot

completelylousy.You,LibbyStrout,aregreat.”“Idon’tknowaboutthat,butthisrighthereisonereasonI’mauditioning.”

Shetakesthepaperfrommeandwavesit.“Theycantellmethisalltheywant,butI’mnotlistening.”Shecrumplesitupandshovesitbackinherbag.Isay,“I’vegotsomethingtoshowyoutoo.”AndthenIgointomyphoneandpullsomethingupandholditouttoher.Shereadstheemailoutloud.“‘DearJack.’”AndIlikethewayshesaysmy

name.Imean,Ireallylikeit.“‘Thankyouforreachingout.Wewouldbeveryinterestedintestingyou.Ifyouaren’tabletomakeittoHanover,wesuggestbeingintouchwithDr.AmberKlein,DepartmentofBrainSciences,CognitiveNeurology,IndianaUniversity,Bloomington.Best,BradDuchaine.’”Shelooksup.“Isthisabouttheprosopagnosia?”“Yeah.Iwouldn’thavewrittentohimifithadn’tbeenforyou.”“Areyougoingtodoit?”

“Idon’tknow.”Yes.“Wouldn’tyouneedyourparents’permission?”“I’llbeeighteensoon.”“When?”“Octoberfirst.”Shehandsthephonebacktome,studiesthedashagain,thenlooksatme

withwideambereyes.“Solet’sgo.”“What?”“Assoonasyouturneighteen.Let’sgotoBloomington.”“Really?”“Whynot?”BeforeIknowwhat’shappening,myeyesarereachingforherandhersare

reachingformine.Acrosstheseat,oureyesareholdinghands.Wesitlikethisuntilthesoundofahornmakesusjump.

IwaituntiltheydriveawaybeforeheadingtoMasselin’s,whereI’minsuchagoodmoodthatI’mciviltomydad.Itstingsalittletoseehowsurprisedheisbythis,soIgoonestepfurtherandtalktohimabouttherobotI’mbuildingforDusty.It’sgoingtobeastallasDusty,maybetaller.It’sgoingtotalk.It’sgoingtobethebestdamnrobotever.Tohiscredit,mydadispoliteandasksquestions.Wedon’tmentionMonica

Chapman.Wedon’tmentiontheemail.AndforaminuteIthink,Maybethisiswherewestay.Righthereinthissmallradiuswhereit’ssafe.Maybewecanjuststayrighthere,safelikethis,forever.

Twohourslater,whenIgetbackintheLandRover,itstillsmellslikeher.Sunshine.

Afterdinner,mydadandIwatchTVwithGeorge.Dadiseatinggrapesoneatatime,tippinghisheadbackandthrowingthemintotheair,catchingthemwithhismouthasGeorgeswatsatthem.Ileanmyheadbackandcatchoneinmyownmouth.IsavoritthewayI’msupposedtosavorfoodthat’sgoodforme.Ibiteitalittle,anditburstsintoaneruptionofgoodness.Iwasonfiretoday.Ilituptheoldgym.Youshouldhaveseenme!I’mmaking

upforeverylostmomentwhenIcouldn’tmoveorgetoutofbed.Thedanceisinme!JustwaittilltheyseemeattheDamselsaudition.I’mgoingtonailit.I’mgoingtodancemyheartoutforalltheworldtosee.“TheMasselinboy.Everythingokaythere?Isheleavingyoualone?”“He’snotbotheringme.”Notinthatway,atleast.“Libbs,youknowyoucantalktomeaboutanything.”AndIfeelmyselfgoingbrightred.Whatifmydadcanreadmythoughts?

WhatifhecanseehowIam,atthisexactmoment,undressingJackMasselinwhileIeatthesegrapes?“Iknow,Dad.”Forthefirsttimeinmylife,Idon’twanttotalktohim.NotaboutJackand

notabouttheletters.IfIdo,Ibecomesomethinghehastoworryabout,andI’vealreadybeensomethinghehastoworryaboutfortoolong.“I’mthinkingofditchingschoolonOctoberfirst.”Oneofthethingsmydad

mademepromiseaftermymomdiedwasthatIwouldalwayslethimknowwhereIwas,andIfigureIcanatleasttellhimthismuch.“AfriendofmineneedstogotoIndianaUniversitytotakepartinaresearchstudy.”“Who’sthisfriend?”

“Justsomeonefromschool.”Idon’ttellhimit’sJack.Ifigureit’senoughthatI’msittingheretellingmyfatherIwanttoskipschool.“He’sgoingthroughsomethingsrightnow.Iwanttobethereforhim.”“Doyouhaveanyteststhatday?Anythingbigthatyou’dbemissing?”“NotthatIknowof.”“Isthisa…isita…”“Date?No.”Idon’tthinkso.Imean,itisn’t.Butitmakesmewonder:Coulditturninto

one?“No,”Isayagain.“Itwasmyideatogo.”Ialmostsay,I’mthinkingaboutgettingtestedtoo.Iknowwetalkedaboutit

afterMomdied,butnowthatI’molderIthinkImightwantto.MaybethatwayIwon’tworryasmuch.Ithrowmyselfagrapeandmissmymouth.OrmaybeI’llworrymore,dependingonwhatIfindout.Ipickthegrapeoffmyshirt,andthenfrownattheshirt.“Doyouthinkwecouldgoshopping?”Heraisesaneyebrow.“Foryournon-date?”“Youwouldn’tactuallyhavetogo.Youcouldjustletmeborrowmoney.Or

Icouldgetajob.”“Nojobs.Notrightnow.Onethingatatime.”“SocanIborrowsomemoney,then?”“Yourealizeyou’vejustaskedmeifyoucanskipschoolandborrowmoney

inthesameconversation?YourealizeI’mtheworld’sbestdad?”“Ido.”HetiltshisheadbackandIthrowhimagrape.IthrowGeorgeagrapeand

hesmacksitacrosstheroom.IthrowmyselfagrapeandthistimeIcatchitlikeapro.

Inmyroom,Ipickupmyphoneandsettlebackagainsttheheadboard.IcallBaileybecausethisiswhatrealfriendswhoaren’timaginarydo.Whensheanswers,Isay,“WhatdoyouthinkofJackMasselin?”“Asapersonorasaguy?”“Both.”“Ithinkhe’sbasicallyagoodpersonwhosometimeslacksjudgment.Asa

guy,Ithinkhe’scuteandfunny,andheknowsit,buthe’snotasjerkyasalotofthem.Why?”“Oh,I’mjustwondering.”“I’mnottellingyouhowtofeel,Libbs,butheandCarolineareoneofthose

forevercouples.Imean,evenwhenthey’renottogether,they’retogether,and

ifitwasme,Iwouldn’twanttogonearhim.You’djustsetyourselfupforheartbreak.”“I’mnotsayingI’minterested.”ButamI?IchangethesubjecttoTerriCollinsandtheDamsels,andBaileytellsme

aboutthisboyshelikeswholivesinNewCastle.Wetalkforawhile,andafterwardIgoonIris’sInstagramaccount,whereIlikeeverysingleoneofhermostrecentposts.Ichooseonerandomlyandcommentonit,andIalmostleaveitatthat.ButthenIdecidetocallher.Igostraighttovoicemailandleavearamblingapology.Shecallsmebackimmediately,andeventhoughIdon’twantto,IanswerbecauseIamnotanisland.

Athome,IfindMom-with-Hair-Upinherstudy,deepinwork,lawbooksopen,laptophumming.Iraponthedoor.“Oldestson,reportingforduty.”ShegivesmeaMomlook.“Didyoumanagetomakeitthroughtheday

withoutassaultinganyoneorhavingtoseetheprincipal?”“Yes,Idid.”IraisemyarmsinatriumphantV,likeIjustcrossedafinish

line.“Welldone.Let’sseeifwecanhavemoredayslikethis.”Sheholdsupone

hand,fingerscrossed,whiletheotherhandmarksherplaceinoneofthebooks.“Bytheway,apackagecameforyou.Ileftitontheislandinthekitchen.Whatdidyouorder?”“Juststuffforschool.”I’mhopingshe’lltakethisasevidencethatI’manew

andimprovedJack,lessonlearned.Herphonerings,andsheshakesherhead.“Goaheadandgetpizzaor

somethingfordinner,unlessyourdadcanthrowsomethingtogether.”“Idon’tthinkhe’shomeyet.”Herfacegoesblank,andbeforeshecansayanythingandbecausesheworks

hardandhe’salouse,andbecauseshedoesn’tdeservetofeelbadaboutanything,Ijogaroundthedeskandkissheronthecheek.“You’rewelcometoallthisswag,Mom.I’vegotsomuchtospare.Here’salittlemoretohelpyouwithyourcase.”AndIhugher.It’snotmuch,butitmakesherlaugh,evenasshe’spushingmeaway.

Iopentheboxinmyroom.TwotitlesbyOliverSacks,atextbookishvolumeonvisualperceptioncalledFaceandMind,andabiographyofprosopagnosic

painterChuckClose,who’smadeanameforhimselfpaintingfacesandisatotalbadass.He’sinawheelchair,withamessed-uphand,andhe’sface-blind,buthecreatesthesepaintingsthatarereallydamnawesome.Thisishowhedoesit:

Hephotographstheface.

Hemapsthefacebymakingaphotographicgridofit.

Hethenbuildsthefacepiecebypieceoncanvas,usingoils,acrylics,ink,graphite,orcoloredpencils.

Accordingtohim,it’salwaysabouttheface.Onlyabouttheface.Becausethefaceisaroadmapoflife.

ItextJayvee.Ourconversationbegins,asalways,withAtticusFinch.Me:Let’ssayAtticusFinchisyourfather.Jayvee:AmIScoutorJem?Me:Either.OrJayvee.JayveeFinch.Jayvee:OftheFilipinoFinches.Continue.Me:Let’ssaythere’sanillnessthatrunsinthefamily,andwhenyouwere

little,Atticusdecidedyoushouldn’tbetestedforit.Jayvee:Atticusisusuallyright.Isthereacure?Me:Notreally.Jayvee:AmIquestioningAtticusnowthatI’mallgrownupand

womanly?Me:Maybe.Jayvee:HowoldamInow?Me:Ourage.Jayvee:I’dassumeoldAtticushadhisreasons.He’sAtticusFinch,after

all.Fivesecondslater:Jayvee:Butthere’ssomethingtobesaidformakingyourowndecisions.

HowtoBuildaRobotbyJackMasselin

1. CollectasmanyLegopiecesandothermaterialsaspossible.2. Drawupschematicofdesign.3. Ignore“howtobuildaLegorobot”websitesbecausethisisforDusty

andhedeservessomethingoriginalthathasneverbeencreatedbefore.4. RewatchTheDaytheEarthStoodStill(theoriginal,nottheremake)for

procrastination-designed-as-inspiration-gatheringpurposes.5. Takeeverythingyoucanfindofanyvaluefromthescrapyard.6. Ordermissingparts(ifimpossibletofindatscrapyard)—

microcontroller,breadboard,circuitboard,battery,jumperwires,gearmotors,powerjack,speaker,infraredreceiver,rotationservos,variousbracketsandhardware,motorizedscrollsaw,etc.

7. Createsketchesthatwilltelltherobotwhattodo.Basically,programitsbrain.

WhenIwassix,Iclimbedupontheroofofthehouse,tryingtobeasuperhero.IwasIronManinmyIronMansuit,onlyinrealityIwaswearingaT-shirtandapairofswimtrunks,whichmeantthatinsteadofflyingIdoveheadfirstintotheearthandcrackedmyskullopen.Sixty-sevenstitches.DidIrecognizepeoplebeforethat?Ican’tremember.

8. Giveitagoodbrain.Acomplete,fullyfunctioning,normal,regularbrain.

ONEWEEKLATER

OctoberfirstisaTuesday.IplaysickandhidethekeystotheLandRoversoMarcuscan’ttakeittoschool.Whenatallboywithshaggyhaircomesintomyroomandstartsyellingatme,Ifigureit’shim.“Iknowyou’vegotthekeys,youfaker.”Icoughloudly.Hestartsdiggingthroughmyshit—bookshelves,drawers,closet.He’s

pickingmyjeansupoffthefloorandsearchingthepockets.IhackawaylikeI’vegottuberculosisuntilawomanappearsatthedoorand

wantstoknowwhatintheGreatFannyAdamsisgoingon.Inanswer,Icoughmyselfragged,whichmakesherpointtothedoorandtell

thetall/shaggyboytogetthehelldownstairs.NOW.Thewomansays,“Doyouneedanythingbeforewego?”“I’llbeokay.”Idon’tactuallymeanto,butIsoundlikeamartyr.Icougha

littlemore.Andthenshe’sgone,andIliestill,listeningtotheleavingsoundsthatare

happeningdownstairs.Ihearthefrontdoorslam,andIliethereanotherminute.Ihearacarengine

kickin,andthenI’mupandatthewindow,countingthebodiesdownbelow.Thewomanclimbsintoonecarwiththislittlekid,andamanwiththickdarkhairgetsinanothercarwiththetall/shaggyboy.Iwatchthempullawayandturninoppositedirectionsattheendoftheblock,firstoneandthentheother.Likethat,Iflyintomotion.I’mgrabbingthekeysfrombeneaththemattress,pullingonclothes,runningdownthestairs,shovingabagelinmymouth,jumpingintheLandRover,andheadingacrosstowntoLibby’s.

Libby’sneighborhoodisstreetafterstreetofthesenewhousesthatlookidentical,oneaftertheother.There’snothingtodistinguishherhousefromtherestofthemexceptforthegirlwholivesthere.She’swaitingformeonthecurb,wearingthispurpledress,anditremindsmeofsomethinganactualwomanwouldwear,tuckedhere,loosethere,fittedthere.Herhairisdownandlitupbythesun.Icanseebeauty.Themoresymmetricaltheface,themoreaveragethe

personlookstomebecausethere’sthissamenesstothem,evenifotherpeoplethinkthey’rehot.Apersonhastohavesomethinguniqueaboutthem.Libby’sfaceissymmetrical,butherbeautyhasnothingtodowithsameness.Irecognizeitassheswingsthedooropenandclimbsintothecar.She’sgraceful,especiallyforsomeonesolarge.ShekindofswoopsinlikeTarzan,kicksoffhershoes,andwiggleshertoes.Hertoenailsarepurpletoo.Isay,“Youlookgreat.”Shecocksherheadatme.“Areyouflirtingwithme,JackMasselin?”“I’mjuststatingtheobvious.”Shepullsherhairoffherneck,andIwanttosayDon’tdothat.You’ll

disappearbeforemyeyes.Butthenyoucantellsherethinksit—maybesheremembersthatI’vetoldherthisbefore—andletsitfallbackaroundhershoulders.ThenshehandsmesomethingwrappedinChristmaspaperandaboutfifty

bows.“Happybirthday.Ifyoucan’ttell,IlikeChristmaspaperbest.”“Youdidn’thavetodoanything.”“Iwantedto.Openit.”Itearoffthewrappingandthebowsgoflying.Shepicksoneupandsticksit

toherhair,rightoverherleftear.Shepicksupanotherandsticksittothekneeofmyjeans.Ipickoneupandstickittotheendofmynoseandthenstickoneontheendofhernose.Shesaysfrombehindthebow,“Open,please.”It’sabook.WeHaveAlwaysLivedintheCastlebyShirleyJackson.Atfirst,

I’mthrown.Iwonderifsheknows.ShemustknowIwastheonewhosentthistoheratthehospital.Ilookather,butshe’sgotthiswide,opensmileonherface,andIcanseethatno,shedoesn’tknow.Iflipthroughthebook.It’snotthesamecopyIsentheryearsago,butit’s

stillwellwornandwellread.“Iwasn’tsurewhattogetyoubecausewhatdoyougettheboywhohas

everything,includingfaceblindness?SoIthoughtI’dgetyousomethingIlove.It’smyfavoritebook.Youdon’thavetoreadit,butthegirl,Mary

Katherine—Merricat,theycallher—sheremindsmeof,uh,me,Iguess.And…Idon’tknow.Ithoughtyoumightrelatetohertoo.”“I’llreadit.”Ismileather.“Thankyou.”Shesmilesatme.“You’rewelcome.”Andwe’rehavingwhatfeelslikeamoment.Suddenly,theairisn’tjustfilled

withbows;it’sfilledwithsomesortofelectriccurrentthatlinksherseattomine.Shedoestheimpossible—slicesthroughthecurrentbyspeakingfirst.“So

areyoureadyforthis?”“AsI’lleverbe.”

AtfirstI’mamped.Italkherearoff,tellingherabouteveryonlinetestI’vetakenandthisguywithprosopagnosianamedBillChoisserwholivesinSanFranciscoandisanoldbeardeddudewhowroteabookaboutfaceblindness,whichhe’spostedontheInternetforalltoread.Allabouttheimpactbeingface-blindhasonschool,work,relationships,life.ButthecloserwegettoBloomington,thequieterIget.Icanfeeltheair

goingoutofme.WhatamIgoingtofindout?WillDr.AmberKleinbeabletohelpme?ShouldIbegoingtoNewHampshireinsteadtoseeBradDuchaine?Whatifthiswholetripisawasteoftime?WhatiftheytellmeI’vegotsomeseriousillness?WhatifIfindoutitisn’tfaceblindness,butcancerofthebrain?“Icanalmostfeelyouthinkingrightnow.”Ilookather.“DidyouforgetIwasinthecarwithyou?”I’msodeepintheforestofmymindthatyeah,Ialmostdid.“Sorry.”Wepassasign:BLOOMINGTON…10MILES.Ifeelmystomachdropandland

somewherearoundthegaspedal.“Doesthisthinghavearadio?”“Doesithavearadio.Whatdoyouthink,woman?Christalmighty.”Ihita

buttonandmusicfillstheLandRover,takingupallthespacearoundus.Itrytoconcentrateonthewords,onthemelody,butthenshestartssearchingthroughsongs,andthisfeelslikemybrain—fragmentsofwords,fragmentsofmelodies,fragmentsofmoments,fragmentsofthings.Finally,shefindsasongshelikes,andthenshecranksit.“Disco?Areyoufuckingkiddingme?”Ireachfortheradio,butshesmacks

myhandaway.Ireacharoundherhand,andshesmacksitagain,andthenit’snotaboutturningoffthemusic,it’sabouttouchingher,andourhandsare

flirting.Finally,shegrabsmyfingersandholdsontothem.Andthatelectriccurrentissparkingoutofmythumb,mypinky,andthefingersinbetween.IcoughbecauseWhatthefuckishappening?Isaytothecar,“I’msosorrythishadtohappentoyou,baby.I’msorryyoueverhadtohearthis.I’msorryIeverhadtohearthis.I’msorryI’mstillhearingit.”Libbyhollers,“What?Ican’thearyouovermyownsingingandthis

amazingbeat!”Nowshe’ssingingasloudasshecanANDdancing.Sheletsgoofmyhand

andyells,“Spontaneousdanceparty!”andgoesonsinging,butnowshe’sdancingbiggerandbroader,likeshe’sonstagesomewhere.“Ilovetolove,butmybabyjustlovestodance,hewantstodance,heloves

todance,he’sgottodance.”“Whatthef—?”“Theminutethebandbeginstoswingit,he’sonhisfeettodigit,anddance

thenightaway.Stop!I’mspinninglikeatop,we’lldanceuntilwedrop…”It’sprettymuchthecorniestsongI’veeverheard,butLibbyisintoit.She’s

groovingallovertheseat,shakinghershoulders,shimmyingtowardmeandaway.Shewinksatmeandbeltsitoutlouder,andshe’saterriblesinger.SoIstartsingingalongwithher,kindofself-defensively.Andthenwe’redancinginunison—headsbobbingtotheright,totheleft,

shouldersforward,shouldersback.Nowwe’reyellingthewords,andI’mpoundingonthesteeringwheel,andshe’sgotherarmsintheair,andit’sthebestsongI’veeverheard,andnowI’msmilingather.Andshe’ssmilingatme.Andit’samoment.Adefinitemoment.Shesays,“Watchtheroad,Casanova.”Butshesaysitinthissoftvoicethat

I’veneverheardherusebefore.“Justremember,whateverwelearntoday,thesetestsdon’tchangeanything.”Ilikethewayshesayswe,asifshe’sinthiswithme.“You’restillJackMasselin.You’restillapainintheass.You’restillyou.”

IamhavingamomentwithJackMasselin.Ifyou’daskedmeacoupleofweeksagooreventwodaysagoifIcouldimaginesuchathing,IwouldhavelaugheduntilIlaughedthebreathrightoutofme.Thisisthethingaboutlifeoutsidethehouse,though:youneverknowwhatmighthappen.Ithinkhefeelsittoo,butI’mnotsure.He’dbetterfeelittoo.Ithadbetternotjustbemeoverhere,bymyself,onmyown,havinga

momentoverhimasopposedtowithhim.IactlikeLalala,nobigdeal,let’sgotoBloomington,let’sseeifyou’re

reallyface-blind.Butinsidemychest,myheartisclenchingandunclenchingandskippingbeatsandflutteringlikeit’sabouttoburstitswayoutofthereandflyaroundthiscar.Ifixasmileonmyfaceandstareoutthewindowandthink,Oh,heart,youtraitor.

Thelabisbusy.AnassistantleadsustoDr.AmberKlein(lightbrownhair,sharpcheekbones,glasses).Sheisdressedallinblack,hersleevesrolledoverherelbows,andherhairsweptupinakindofno-nonsenseway.She’sprobablyaroundforty.Thelabisalsoblack,floors,walls,ceiling.Theroomisdividedintocubiclesbycurtains—black,ofcourse—anditfeelslikewe’vewanderedontothesetofamusicvideo.LibbywearspurpleandI’mingreen,andwestandoutlikebeacons.Dr.Kleinoffersuschairsbehindoneoftheblackcurtains,soit’sasifwe’re

enclosedinasmallroom.Shebootsupherlaptopandsays,“Iunderstandyouneedtobehomebylateafternoon?”She’swearinganactualwatch,andshechecksitnow:9:54a.m.“There’sabitofacurfewsituation.”IsmileatLibbyandshesmilesatme.

She’sstillwearingthebowoverherleftear,buthersmileremindsmeoftheonemymomworeduringDad’schemoappointments.Likeshe’sdeterminedtomakethemostofthingsforthesakeofhim/me,whensheknowshowhopelessitreallyis.“I’mgoingtorunyouthroughaseriesoftests.”Dr.Kleinsitsdownand

startsclickingawayatthekeyboard.Libbysaystome,“I’mactuallygoingtowaitoutside.IsawaStarbucks

nearby.Justtextmewhenyou’redone.”Shetakesmyphoneandtypeshernumberin.Whenshehandsitback,Ifeelthisweirdpanic.Shehesitatesovermyshoulder.“Unless…Imean,Icanstay…”ButIcan

tellthatshedoesn’twanttostay,andIwonderifmaybeit’sthewholedoctor/brainsettingthat’sbuggingher.

“Nah,I’mgood.”Iwatchhergo,hairswinging.Dr.Kleinsays,“Doesanyoneinyourfamilyhaveprosopagnosia?”“I’mnotsure.Why?”“Faceblindnessisoftengenetic,buttherearethreecategoriesof

prosopagnosia:acquired,developmental,andcongenital.Itcanalsobeasymptomofotherdisorders,suchasautism.Didyoueverexperienceafallorachildhoodillnessofthebrain?”“IfellofftheroofwhenIwassix.”“Didyouhityourhead?”“Couldsomethinglikethatcausefaceblindness?”“Yes.It’snotascommonasdevelopmentalprosopagnosia,butit’spossible.”“Ibangeditprettyhard.Ihadtohavestitches.”Instinctively,Ireachforthe

thinraisedlinealongmyscalp.Shetypesaway,andasshedoes,ithitsme:Thiswomanisgoingtodig

aroundinyourbrain.Youcan’thidefromher.ShewantstoknowwhatkindoftestsweredoneafterIfell,andthenshe

wantstoknowifIwasabletorecognizefacesbeforetheageofsix.ThehonestanswerisIdon’tknow.Yeah,Ihadeverytestimaginabletosee

whatdamagehadbeendonetomybrain.ButdidIknowpeoplebytheirfacesbackthen?I’mnotsure.Shesays,“Certainlyyourparentswouldhavenoticedadifferenceifyou

suddenlyhadtroublerecognizingeveryone.”“IthinkI’vealwaysbeengoodatcompensatingandcoveringup.Imean,

evenbackthen.MaybeIcouldrecognizepeoplebefore,butIwassoyoung…”“Didyourparentsnoticebehavioralchanges?”“Mymomsaidtheyexpectedmetobecomethiscautiouskid,butIgot

louder.Shesaysthat’swhenshestartedgoinggray.”Igiveherasmile,butshe’sbusytyping.Isittherelookingaround,telling

myselftomanup,son,stopfeelingnervous.Inaminute,shefoldsherhandsinherlapandbeginstalking.“I’mnotsurehowmuchresearchyou’vedone,Jack,butoneoftheearliestdocumentedcasesofprosopagnosiadatesfrom1883…LewisCarrollwasrumoredtobeprosopagnosic.ThenexttimeyoureadAliceinWonderland,youmightseetheclues…I’msureyou’refamiliarwithidentifiers.Asyouknow,hairstyleandclothingcanchangeonadailybasis.We’vemetaladywhoidentifiespeoplebytheirweddingringsbecausethisisanidentifierthatrarelychanges…”She’sabouttoseeeverythingyou’rehiding.

Suddenly,Ifeelnaked.IactuallyhavetolookdownatmyselftomakesureI’mstillwearingclothes.

Thefirsttestisfamousfaces.ThisissimilartooneItookonline—photosofcelebritieswiththeirhairandearsremoved.Dr.Kleinsays,“Okay,Jack.Theclockisn’ttickinghere,sofeelfreetotakeasmuchtimeasyouneed.”SheturnsthelaptoparoundsothatIcanuseit.Afaceappearsonthescreen.

It’sjustanovalwitheyes,anose,amouth.IfIlookatitlongenough,itdoesn’tlooklikeafaceatall,butaplanetpockedbycratersandshadows.Onebyone,Itypeinthenames,buttobehonestI’mmakingshitup.WhenIfinish,wegorightintothenexttest.Dr.Kleinsays,“Thesystemthat

processesreadingemotionsonafaceisseparatefromthesystemthatreadsfeatures.Canyoutypicallytellifapersonisangryorsadorhappy?”“Almostalways.Ican’trecognizefaces,butIcanreadthem.”“That’sbecausethereisavisualprocessingsystemthatexistsonlyforface

recognition,andspecificallyonlyhumanfaces.Yourdogoryourcatisactuallyidentifiedbyyourbrainasanobject.Theconfiguralprocessoriswhatallowspeopletoseethefaceasawholeandnotjustitsindividualparts.”Thistestisaboutidentifyingemotions.IwanttothinkInaileveryoneofthe

answers,butIactuallydon’thaveaclue.Nextisaseriesofupside-downfaces.I’msupposedtomatchthemtothe

right-side-upfaces,butIcan’t.IknowIcan’t.ThemoredefeatedIfeel,though,themoreenergizedDr.Kleinappears.She

leansoverthelaptop.“Humanswhohavenoproblemrecognizingfacesareverybadatidentifyingupside-downonesbecauseonceyouturnthatimageupsidedown,youcannolongerusetheconfiguralprocessingstrategytorecognizethatface.Soyoustartusingafeature-by-featurestrategyinstead,whichishowweidentifyobjects.It’scomparabletohowyouarewithregularfacesbecausethehumanprocessoronlyworkswithuprightimages.Unlikemonkeys,whoareadeptatrecognizingothermonkeys,nomattertheorientation.”ThethingItakefromthisisEvenmonkeysrecognizeeachother.“Nowwe’regoingtotestyourabilitywithobjectrecognition.Thisway,we

canknowit’sstrictlyafacerecognitionproblemandthatitdoesn’textendtoobjects.”Isittherematchinghouses,cars,guns,landscapes,animals,andsuddenly

I’mthinking,WhatifIgetthesemixeduptoo,allthesethingsI’veneverhadtroubleidentifying?WhatifIonlythoughtIrecognizedacat,adog,ahouse,acar,butIfindoutIdon’tknowthemanybetterthanfaces?Isitbackfora

minuteandclosemyeyes,mostlybecauseIwanttogetaway—fromthiscomputer,thislab,thiscampus,myownhead.Dr.Kleinsays,“Iwantyoutorememberthateveryonegetssomerightand

somewrong.It’showthetestwasdesigned.”Whichdoesn’tmakemefeelanybetter.ButIopenmyeyes.Igoon.Ifeelevenworsewiththenextone,theBaldWomentest,whichisphoto

afterphotoofregular,non-celebrityfemaleswiththehairandearsmissingonceagain.I’msupposedtohitabuttonifIseeonethatlooksdifferent,buttheyalllookthesametomesoIdon’tevenbothertrying—IjusthitSameoverandover.Thelasttestremindsmeofaneyeexam.Ileanonthechinrestandpressmy

foreheadagainstthiscontraptionthatlookslikeamask.Dr.Kleinwantsmetostudythecomputerscreen,wherethere’sasmallcamerapointedatmypupils.This,accordingtoher,willrecordmymethodofprocessingaface.“Normalperceiversgofortheinternalfeaturesofthefaceandusea

triangularsequencethatmovesbetweentheeyes,thenose,andthemouth.Prosopagnosics,ontheotherhand,startwiththeexternalfeatures,suchastheearsandthehair.Theyusuallyavoidtheeyeregion.”Thissoundsaboutright.AndthenIwonderwhatLibbyisdoingandwhere

sheis.

I’mstandingintheDepartmentofBrainSciences,CognitiveNeurology,atIndianaUniversity,Bloomington,wherethereareanswersallaroundme.IwasyoungwhenmymomdiedandwhenmydadandItalkedtothedoctorsabouttesting.IletmydaddecidewhetherIshoulddoitornot.ButI’mherenow,andIcanasktotalktooneofthesewhite-coateddoctorsorscientists.Mymomdiedofacerebralhemorrhage,andIneedtoknowifI’mgoingtodiethatwaytoo.I’mpacingupanddownthehall.IfI’mtested,they’lleitherfindoutIhave

aneurysmsinmybrainorIdon’t.Theywilleitherbeabletopinthemoffandtrytocontrolthemornot.Buthere’sthething—eveniftherearen’tanyaneurysmsinthere,thesefacts

won’tchange:Iwillstillbesomeonewhowatches;Iwillstillbesomeonewhoispreparedandonthelookout,becauseatanymomenttheearthcouldstopspinning.I’velivedthroughtheworstthingthatcaneverhappentome,andIknowfirsthandwhattheworldcando.Amaninawhitecoatpassesbyandnodsatme.Inodback.Ithink,Hecouldhaveanswers.Iwatchhimwalkaway.Ithink,Ifmymomwashere,whatwouldshesay?MyphonebuzzesandIalmostdon’tcheckit,butitcouldbeJack.It’satextfromJayvee.Libby+absentfromschool=questioningAtticus?Ihadoneotherthought.Irealizedthatasbadasitisnottoknow,thenotknowingissomethingtoo.Youcanstilldosomethingwiththat.

Andthensheadds:

Asmuchasapersoncanwhileaperson’sstillinhighschoolinIndiana.

IwaitforDr.Kleintoruntheresults.Itellmyselfit’sokay.It’snobigdeal.Imean,it’snotasifyoudon’talreadyknowthatyousuckatrecognizingpeople.Butlisten,youdoallright.Yougetby.You’regoodatfiguringoutidentifiers,andyou’vedoneitallonyourownwithoutanyguidanceorhelp.IamgivingmyselfthepeptalkofmylifewhenDr.Kleinreturns.Shesits

downacrossfrommeandsays,“You’redefinitelyprosopagnosic.Prosopagnosiaisonacontinuum.Youcanbemildlybadoryoucanbeprofoundlyface-blind.Youareprofoundlyface-blind.Infact,you’reoneofthemostseverecasesI’veeverseen.”Soit’sofficial.Iexpecttofeelworseormaybeevenbetternowthatit’sconfirmed.“Whathappensnow?Isthereacure?”Ihaven’tcomeacrossoneinanyofmyresearch,butthatdoesn’tmeanDr.

AmberKlein,brainspecialist,won’tknowofone.Hersmileisupsidedownandapologetic.“We’recertainlymakinggreat

stridesinourresearch,butno.There’snocure.We’reexperimentingwithwaystoteachpeoplehowtobettermanagetheirfaceblindness.We’vebeendoingsomerepetitivetrainingwithfaces.Researchsubjectswilltrainforanhouraweek.Therearetenlevelsofdifficulty.Ateenageboy,alittleyoungerthanyou,hasbeenworkingwithusforfivemonths,andhiseyemovementstrategieshavebecomemorenormal…”“Isherecognizingfaces?”“No,butwe’rehopingincreasedtrainingwillbegintohelphiminhis

everydaylife.”

She’sstartingtoloseme,andshecantellthis.Sheturnsaroundtoreachforsomething,andwhensheturnsback,it’sasifshe’sawholenewperson.Theslate’sbeenwipedclean,sotospeak.Thethingshereachedforisamodelofthehumanbrain.Shepointstoitas

shetalks.“Towardthebackofyourbrain,overyourrightear—justhere—thereisaspecificareathat’sresponsibleforidentifyingfaces—”“Fusiformgyrustwelve.”Ireachupandrunmyfingersacrossthescar

again,overmyrightear.“WecoulddoanMRI,andthiswouldprovideuswithmoreinformation.

Manyprosopagnosicsalsohavetroublerecognizingcarsandplaces.Theyoftenhavetopographicalagnosia,whichmeanstheylosetheirwayeasilyanddon’trecognizetheirhousesorplacesofwork.Theycanhavetroublewiththeirhearing.Wethinkprosopagnosiaisthekeytodiscoveringhowthebrainprocessesobjectsingeneral.Forsolong,we’vethoughtofthebrainasoneentity,butwe’relearningnowaboutalltheseseparatemachines,ifyouwill,thatareapartofitsmakeup,andthefactthatthesemachinesdon’tinteractwitheachother,thattheyaren’tevenawareofeachother.”“Basicallytheface-processingareaofmybrainiseithermissing,defective,

orunplugged?ButifIdotheMRI,there’sstillnocure.”“Yes.”There’snothingmoreshecandoformeandIknowthatandsheknowsthat.Shesays,“Isuggesttellingpeople,atleastyourfamily.Letthemknowyou

havethis.Itwillmakethingseasieronyouinthelongrun.”IpickupthephoneandtextLibby.I’mdone.

AndIam.“Onemorething,Jack.Mostdevelopmentalprosopagnosicsdon’texpect

anythingfromthefaceinthewaythatthosewithacquiredprosopagnosiado.Justasapersonbornwithoutsighthasonlyeverknownnotseeing,thosewhoarebornwiththisdon’tfeelthatlackinthesameway.Butforthosewhohaveacquiredit,it’snotoutoftheordinaryforthemtokeeptryingtousethefaceasthekeytorecognition.That’stheinstinct.”Forsomereasonthisislikeakickinthechest.Ididthistomyself.IfIhadn’t

climbedontotheroofthatday…ifIhadn’ttriedtoshowoff…ifIhadn’tfallen…Iwouldn’tbesittingheretalkingtoabrainspecialist.Ishouldbeheartbrokenforsix-year-oldmelyingonthefrontlawn,myworldchangedforever.ButinsteadIjustwanttogetoutofhere.“Thanks,Dr.Klein.Ishouldgethome.”

Sheshakesmyhand,thanksmeformytime,apologizesthatshecouldn’tdomore,asifit’sherfault.Iwanttotellhernottobesorry,thatshe’snottheonewhopushedmeofftheroofwaybackwhen,butinsteadIsay,“Goodluckwiththeresearch.”“Jack?”Iturnback.Iseeawomantherewithglassesandsharpcheekbonesandhair

sweptupoffherneck.Shesays,“Onepersonineveryfiftyisface-blind.Itmighthelpforyoutorememberthat.You’redefinitelynotalone.”

OnthedrivebacktoAmos,Iaskhimquestionsaboutthetest,andheanswerstheminthisveryshortyes,no,yes,nokindofway.Thenwe’requiet.Heisfaraway,andIknowwhatthatfeelslike,towanttocloseyourselfup.SoIdon’tforcehimtotalkanymore.Wejustride.Weridefortenmileswithoutsayingaword.Thesilencecoversuslikea

blanket.I’mstaringoutpasttheroadintothegreatbeyond,butafterawhiletheblanketofsilencestartstofeelsmothering,likeit’scuttingoffmycirculation.IalmosttellhimIwasthisclosetogettingtestedtoo,butwhatcomesoutof

mymouthis“Iwanttobeadancer.NotjustaDamsel,butaprofessionaldancer.”Tohiscredit,hedoesn’tgoveeringofftheroad.Heechoes,“Adancer.”

Andhe’sstillfaraway.ButIcanhearhimtuneinabit.“WhenIwaslittle—notjustyoung,butliterallylittle—Itookballet.AndI

wasgreatatit.Ihavethispictureofmeinablackleotard,standinginthemostperfectfifthpositionyou’veeverseen.Itwastakenthenightofourrecital,myfirstever,andIwasglorious.Afterwardmyteachertoldme,‘Youwillneverbeadancer.Icancontinueteachingyoubutitwillonlybeawasteofyourparents’money.Yourbonesaretoobig.Youdon’thavethebodyforit.Thesooneryoulearnthis,thebetter.’”“Wow.Whatabastard.”“Itcrushedme.ForalongtimeIdidn’tdance,nomatterwhatmymomsaid.

Sheofferedtofindmeadifferentteacher,butsomethingwasruined.Iletthatwomanruinitforme.”Istareathisprofile,fixedonthehighway.“Butshe

can’tstopmefromdancing.Noone’sgoingtotellmenottodanceanymore.Nooneshouldtellyouwhatyoucanorcan’tdoeither.Includingyou.”We’reridinginsilenceagain,buteverythingislighterandcleaner.The

moodhasliftedandhe’sback.“Mydadishavinganaffair.”“Howdoyouknow?”“Ijustknow.It’sMrs.Chapman.Atschool.”“AsinMrs.Chapman,chemistryteacher?”“Theveryone.”“Really?”Exceptforbeingyoung,there’snothingaboutMrs.Chapmanthat

screamsTakemeforyourmistress.“Andyouhavetoseeheratschool.”“Yeah.”“Imean,youhavetorunintoheratschool.”“Yeah.”“Whatabastard.”“I’msorrythatpeoplegiveyoushitaboutyourweight.I’msorryfor

anythingIdidtomakeitworseforyou.”“I’msorryyouhavetodateCarolineLushamp.”Helaughs,andsuddenlythecariswarmandcracklingwithelectricity.“I’mnotdatingheranymore.”Thesefivewordssurroundus,takingover

theair,untilhesays,“I’msorrymyfriendscanbeassholes.”“I’msorryyoucan’trecognizethepeopleyouknow.Maybeifyoucould,

you’dpickbetterfriends.”Helaughsagain,butnotashard.“Lookatitthisway—everyoneyoumeet,everyoneyouknow,iftheygeton

yournervesorpissyouoff,it’sokay.Thenextdaythey’lljustbenewpeople.Differentpeople.”“Iguess.”He’snotlaughingnow.Wecomeuponaroadsign:AMOS…5MILES.Hesays,“Wecouldkeepdriving.”“Intothesunset?”“Whynot?”Andsuddenlyit’slikeI’mwatchingusfromthesky—twooutlaws,Jack

MasselinandLibbyStrout,sittingtogetherinthefrontseatofabadassmo-foofanoldcar,hisleginchesfromhers,hishandsonthewheel,breathingthesameair,thinkingthesamethoughts,sharingthingswitheachotherthattheydon’tsharewithanyoneelse.Hiseyesareonmineagain,andhesays,“Assomeonerecentlydiagnosed

withprosopagnosia,I’mtoldthatIdon’tprocessfaceslikenormalpeople.For

instance,Iavoidtheeyes.ButIdon’tseemtohaveanytroublelookingintoyours.Infact,Ilikelookingintothem.Alot.”Oureyeslock.Asintheylock.AsinIcan’timagineeverlookingaway.“Theroad,”Isay,butyoucanbarelyhearit.

Ithinkaboutmakingamoveonher.Itwouldbesoeasy—pullthecarover,leanin,touchhercheek,leaninalittlemore(closeenoughsoshecanfeelmybreath),catchhereye,lookrightintoher,maybebrushherhairoffherface.AllthethingsI’velearnedtodoinordertobetheGuyGirlsWant.HerheadisturnedawaysothatIcanonlyseeherhair.Whenshespeaks

again,hervoicesoundsalittlethroaty,alittlefull,andthere’ssomethingelseinit.Thesomethingelseis:Shemightlikeyouback.Whichmeansyoumightlikeher.Becausetolikesomeonebackindicatesreciprocatingsomethingthatwas

alreadyinexistence.Asinyoulikedherfirst.AsinIlikeLibbyStrout.Ohshit,doI?AndbecauseI’mthinkingaboutcancerandthisoldguyinSanFrancisco

withfaceblindnessandDr.AmberKleinandaneurysmsandhow,whenyougetdowntoit,somuchoflifeisoutofourcontrol,Idecidetotakecontrolofsomething.Ireachoverandtakeherhand.It’ssoftandwarmandfitsexactlyinmine,

andtobehonestI’mnotreallyexpectinganything,butsuddenlymyentirebodyiswired,asifI’vebeenpluggeddirectlyintothesun.Westaredownatourhands,asifwe’reseeingthemforthefirsttime.

Somehow,IrememberI’mdriving,somyeyesgobacktotheroad,butIdon’tletgoofherhand.Irubherskinwithmythumb,andyoucanalmostfeeltheelectrostaticdischarge,thatflowofelectricitybetweentwoelectricallychargedobjectssuddenlycomingintocontact.ESD,asit’scalled,cancreateamazingelectricsparks,butitcanalsohaveharmfuleffects,likecoaldustexplosionsorgas.UnlikewithCaroline,whoismostlygasandcoaldust,therearen’tanyharmfuleffectshere.Libbyissolid.Sheisreal.AslongasIholdherhand,shewon’tvanish

beforemyeyes.

HeturnsoffthehighwayontotheAmosexit.WepasstheWelcomeCenterandtheForddealershipandthemallandallthechainrestaurants.WepasstheoldVictoriansthatlineMainStreet,andthelittlehistorymuseum,andthefourblocksofdowntown,andthecourthouse.Wepassthehighschoolandthecollegeandthemortuary,andthen,finally,wepullintomyneighborhood.DoIlikeJackMasselin?Asinlikelikehim?AtsomepointI’mgoingtohavetogetoutofthiscarandmoveupthewalk

andopenthedoorandgoinside.Iwillhavetoshutthatdoor—meononeside,himontheother—andhewillmovedownthewalk,awayfromthishouse,andclimbbackintohiscaranddriveaway.IwillgotomyroomandlieonmybedandwonderifthisreallyhappenedorifImadeitupandhowonearthIfeelaboutit.Herollstoastopandturnsoffthecar,andwe’rebothstaringatourhands

again.Idon’tlookupbecauseifIlookup,hemightlookup,andwhatifhekissesme?Mybodymightjustexplodeintoamillionpiecesofshimmering,glittering

light.

Iwanthertolookup.Lookup,Ithink.Lookup.Lookup.Myphonebuzzes,andwebothjump.ThisismyalarmlettingmeknowI

onlyhavethirtyminutesbeforeeveryonegetshome.Shit.Shedoesn’tevenwaitformetoturnitoff,justdropsmyhandlikeahot

potatoandgoesleapingoutofthecar.Itbreaksthespell,andIsittherethinking,WhatthefuckamIdoing?Ialmostdriveaway,butinsteadIgetoutoftheLandRover,andshe’s

alreadyonherfrontstep.Forthefirsttimethisyear,Icanfeelfallcoming.There’sachillintheairthatmakesmethinkofbonfires,butmyhandisstillwarm.Ishoveitintomypocket,anditburnsrightthroughmyjeanstotheskin.Shesays,“Thanksforbringingmehome.”AndIcanhearit—she’snervous.Ilookrightintohereyes.“YouarethemostamazingpersonI’veevermet.

You’redifferent.You’reyou.Always.WhoelsecansaythatexceptmaybeSethPowell,andhe’sanidiot.You,LibbyStrout,arenotanidiot.”Shepointsatmychest.“Youdolikeme.”“What?”“JackMasselinlikesthefatgirl,butyouhaven’tfullyacceptedityet.”Okay,Ithink.Let’sseewherethisgoes.“I’mnotsayingyou’reright,butwhatifIdidacceptit?”“Iguesswe’dhavetodosomethingaboutit,then.”Andshewalksintoher

houseandshutsthedoor.

Istandinside,heartskippingbeats.Icanhearhimontheothersideofthedoor.Icanfeelhimthere.Iknowthemomentwhenhewalksaway,twominuteslater,becausetheairaroundmegoesbacktobeingnormalair,notdangerous,electric-stormairthatmightlightning-strikeyouatanymoment.Myheartisstillskippingbeatsashedrivesaway.

IthinkaboutsayingitasMompassesthesalad,asDustyreciteshislinesfromPeterPan,asDadpassesthemacandcheese:Ihaveprosopagnosia.It’sofficial.Iwastestedtodaybyabrainspecialist.NooneknowsIhaven’tbeenhomealldayexceptMarcus,whokeepssaying

thingslike“Wasn’titcrazywhenthefirealarmwentoffduringlunch?Wasn’tthatcrazy,Jack?”Allthesebaitingcomments,tryingtotripmeup.WhenMomandDadaren’tlooking,Igivehimthefinger.Dadcatchesmeandsays,“Hey.Notatthetable.”Iwanttotellhimnottotalktome.IwanttosayYou’rethelastpersonwho

shouldbereprimandinganyone.ButI’minthisweirdlygoodmood,inspiteofDr.AmberKleinandinspite

ofmyfucked-upbrain.SoIdon’tsayawordtomydadortoMarcus,whichissomuchmorethaneitherofthemdeserves.Istaylockedinmyownhead,relivingtheridethere,theridehome,myhandintertwinedwithLibby’s,thewayshesmiledatme,andthewayshesaid,Iguesswe’dhavetodosomethingaboutit,then.

Afterdinner,I’minthebasementworkingontheLegorobot,tryingtolosemyselfintheprocessofbuildingsomething,buttheonlythingI’mbuildingrightnowistheworld’slargestpileofdiscardedrobotparts.Thehardeststageofanyprojectiscomingupwithit.OnceIknowwhatIwantthethingtobe,it’sjustamatterofcollectingthepiecesIneedandputtingthemtogetherintherightorder.ButrightnowIcan’tnailitdown.I’vegotfiftydifferentideasforfiftydifferentrobots,butnoneofthemarerightorextraordinaryenough.

Ihearfootsteps,andfromthestairsavoicesays,“Wereyoureallysicktoday?”Dusty.“Notinaflukindofway.”“Doyouwanttotalkaboutit?”“I’mgood.”Hewandersovertome,sortingthroughthepartsthatare

scatteredacrosstheworktableandthefloor.Isay,“Doyouwanttotalkaboutanything?Arepeoplestillbeingshitty?”“I’mgoodtoo.I’mPeterPan.”AndIgetit.Hewantstostayinthismoment.Thebadmomentsalwayshave

awayofcomingaroundagain,waytoosoon.

Igouptomyroomandclimboutofmywindow,intothetreeandontotheroof.Iliebackandstareatthesky.IthinkaboutitbeingthesameskythatIlookedupatwhenIwassix,beforeIfell,andaboutallthat’shappenedinbetweenthenandnow.Itreallyshouldn’tbethesamesky,forallthat’shappened.Itshouldlookcompletelydifferent.Marcuswasplayingintheyard.Iwentuptotherooftogetawayfromhim

andawayfrommymom,whowasalwaystellingmetowatchhim.ItwashardertogetuptherethanIexpected.Thatsurprisedme.Anditwasdirtier—birdshitandtwigsandanoldsoftballthatmighthavebeenthereforthepasttwentyyears.Ourroofisn’tflat—ithasaslope—andIscootedtotheedgeofit,lookingoutoverthestreetandtheneighborhood.Iheldonwithonehand,andMarcuslookedupjustthen,andIletgobecauseIwantedhimtoseethatIwasstrongandfearlessandbiggerthanhewouldeverbe.Ittakeslessthanasecondtofalltwelvefeet,butitfeltlikeitlastedforever.

Inthatmomentoffalling,theysaythememorygoeswideopen.Youcanseethingsyoudon’tusuallythinkoforseeorremember.Forme,itwasmymother’sface—specifically,itwashereyes.Ican’trememberwhattheylookedlikeinthatmomentIsawthem,butIrememberthatIsawthem.

“Hello?”“It’sJack.Iwasthinkingaboutwhatyousaid.”“Isaysomanythings.Canyounarrowitdown?”“Iwasthinkingaboutwhatyousaidaboutdoingsomethingtoaddressthis

wholeyou-like-me-I-like-yousituation.”“IneversaidIlikeyou.”Silence.“Jack?”“Whatyou’vejustheardisthesoundofmyheartdyingaswiftandsudden

death.”“Hypotheticallyspeaking,if—andI’mnotsayingIdo—butifIwastolike

you,whatwouldyouwanttodoaboutit?”“Iwouldprobablywanttoholdyourhand.”“Probably?”“Hypothetically,yes.Iwoulddefinitelyhypotheticallywanttoholdyour

hand.”“Wellthen,Iwouldprobablyhypotheticallyholdyoursback.”“Iwouldalsohypotheticallywanttotakeyoutoamovie,eventhoughIdon’t

likemoviesasarulebecauseofthewholefacialconfusionsituation.”“Whichone?”“Whichmovie?”“Ineedtoknowifit’ssomethingIwanttosee.”“Won’titbeenoughjusttobewithme,holdinghypotheticalhandsinthe

dark?”

“I’datleastliketoknowwhatkindofmoviewe’dbeseeing.”“Uh.Ithinkitwouldneedtobeamoviewithsomeofeverything.Comedy.

Drama.Action.Mystery.Romance.”“Thatsoundslikeareallygoodmovie.”“Sowouldyouholdmyhandduringit?”“Probably.”“Okay.I’lltake‘probably’fornow.I’dalsowanttotakeyououttodinner,

eitherbeforeorafterthemovie,depending,andIwouldabsolutelywanttowalkyoutoyourdoor.”“WhatifIwantedtodancetomydoorinstead?”“ThenI’myourman.”Areyou?Isthiswhatthismeans?Myheartgoeshopscotchingoutofthe

roomanddownthehallandoutthedoorandintothestreet.“ButafterIdancedyoutothedoor,I’dwanttokissyou.”“Youwould?”“Iwould.”Andnowmyheartisnowhereonearthtobefound.Icanseeitasitbypasses

themoonandthestarsandgoesblastingintoanothergalaxy.“Hypothetically.”“Wellthen,Iwouldletyoukissme.”“Hypothetically?”“No.Definitely.”Bythetimewehanguptwohourslater,it’s1:46a.m.Ilietherefortherest

ofthenightwaitingformyhearttoreturntomychest.

THENEXTEIGHTDAYS

AtlunchonMonday,IsitacrossthetablefromKamandSeth,whoareelbowtoelbow.I’msketchingdesignideasforDusty’srobot,andI’mprettymuchonfireforthefirsttime,andIcanseeit,asinIfinallyknowwhatI’mdoing,andmybloodispumpingandmyheartispumpinglikeI’vejustrunamarathonandsprintedallthewaytothefinish.Nothing,asinnothing,canstoptheflowoftheseideas,untilSethgoes,“Youknow,Kamandme,we’vegotsomethingthatcanhelpyououtinyoursituation.”Ilookup,alittlefoggy,becausemyheadisonthepaperinfrontofme,not

intheMVBcafeteria.Sethisgrinninglikeajackal,andwhateveritis,Idon’twanttohearit.ButIsay,waryashell,“Whatsituationisthat?”SethelbowsKamhard,whichmakesKamdropthethreedozenfrenchfries

hewasabouttostuffdownhisthroat.“Goddammit,Powell.”Sethkeepsrighton.“Ididsomeresearchlastnight.”Hepullsapieceof

paperoutofhispocket.“Jesus.Porn?”Ishouldhaveknown.Igobacktosketching.“Notporn.God.”Heactuallyhasthenervetosoundoffended,eventhough

asfarasIknowSeththinkstheInternetwasinventedfortwopurposes:pornandpoker.“Numberone.They’reeasytotalkto.”“Who’seasytotalkto?”I’mstillmakingnotes.“Fatgirls.”MyheadsnapsupsohardIprobablygivemyselfwhiplash.He’s

tryingtokeepastraightface,buthecan’thelphimself—he’ssnickeringalready.“Two.‘Prettywomenaren’talwaysnice.’”

Kamgoes,“Thatone’strue.”Isay,“Whatisityou’rereadingtome?”“‘TopTenReasonstoDateaFatGirl.’Ifounditonline.”Hewavesthe

paper,andthenholdsituptohisfaceagain,readssomethingtohimself,andstartshowling.Imakeagrabforit,butheholdsitoutofreach,overhishead.“Three…”Kamripsthepaperoutofhishandsandhandsittome.Icrushitintoaball

andgetreadytolaunchitacrossthecafeteriaintothetrash,butIdon’twantanyonediggingitoutofthere,soIstuffitintomybackpocketinstead.IleanoverthetableandwhackSethinthehead.Hejustkeepslaughing.Kamsays,“Moron.”Andcramstherestofthe

frenchfriesintohismouth.IknowSeththinkshe’sbeingfunny,butmyinsidesareburning,likeI’ve

inhaledanentireforestfire.“Layoffher,man.I’mserious.”“Wow.Sure,sure,Mass.Whatever.”He’swipingthetearsawayandtryingto

catchhisbreath.Hesitsquietlyforaminute,andthen,withonesnicker,helaunchesintoanotherlaughingfit.Itrynottoletitbotherme.Whocareswhattheythink?Itellmyselfit’snot

thatshe’sfat.That’snotwhatI’mworriedabout.I’mnotworriedatall.Ijustwantthemtoleavemealone.Leaveusalone.Butpartofmeisgoing,Whatifyou’rejustshallow?Whatifthat’syouridentifier?“You’reafuckingidiot,SethPowell.”AndIgatherupmyideasandwhat’s

leftofmylunchandwalkaway.

TheDamselsDrillTeamauditionssign-upsheethangsonHeatherAlpern’sdoor.Sofarsevengirlshavesignedup.I’mnumbereight.Jayveehandsmeapen,andIleaninandwritemyname.BehindmeIhear,“OhmyGod,you’retryingout?”CarolineLushamplooksdownatmewiththisweirdpretendsmilethat

makesherlooklikesomesortofbeautyqueenserialkiller.Isay,“OhmyGod,howdidyouknow?”Sheblinksatme,blinksatmynameonthesheet,blinksatJayvee,blinksat

me.Isay,“Justimagineit—wecouldbeteammates.”AndthenIsqueezeherinto

thetightesthug.“Seeyouatauditions!”Jayveecanbarelywalkforlaughing.Sheweaveslikeadrunkperson

throughthehalls.Finally,shestraightensupandstopslaughinglongenoughtosay,“SowhatdidyoudoabouttheAtticussituation?Testornotest?”“Notest.Idecidedheknewbestafterall.”“Heusuallydoes.”

Indriver ’sed,we’reassignedthreetoacar,andsincetherestoftheclassismadeupofsophomores,thelonejuniorsarelumpedtogether:Bailey,TravisKearns,andme.I’mprettysureTravisisstoned.Hecarriesonacommentaryinthebackseat

thatgoessomethinglike:“Floorit,biggirl…Golikethemother-effingwind…Openherup…Showthisworldwhatyoucando…Takethatbeautifulbiglegofyoursandslamthatgaspedal…Takeustothemoon,sister…orat

leasttoIndy…TakeustoIndy…TakeustoIndy…Indy…Indy…Indy…”(Severalindecipherablewordsfollowedbymadlaughter.)Baileyisinthebacknexttohim,andshe’ssmashedupagainstthedoor,as

farawayfromhimasshecanpossiblyget.ButintrueBaileyfashion,she’swearingadeterminedsmile.Mr.Dominguez,inallhismanliness,isinthepassengerseat.I’mbehindthewheel,andIcan’thelpit—I’mexcited.Myhandsaretinglingandthereisthiscrazyheatburningupfrommyfeet,allthewayupmylegs,intomystomach,throughmychest.IfeellikeI’monfire,butinawaythatletsmeknowI’mALIVE.Youhavetounderstandthatforalongtimetherewasapartofmethat

thoughtIwouldneverdriveorrunordoanyoftheeverydaythingsthatpeoplemyagegettodo.Myworldconsistedofmybedandthesofa,andafterawhile,whenIcouldn’tmoveeasilyfromonetotheother,Istayedinbedalldayandnight,reading,watchingshowaftershow,surfingaroundonline,and,yes,eating.SometimesIwouldhearDean,Sam,andCastieloutside,andifIsatupenough,Icouldseeoutmywindowintothestreetandwatchthemplaytennisorsoccerortag.IsawDeanandSamleavefordancesanddates(inmymind,theyweredatingme).Iwatchedtheyoungest,Cas,climboneofthetreesthathuggedthehouse.Ioverheardphoneconversationsandmake-outsessionsandarguments.SometimesI’dseeCasinmyyard,lookingupatmywindow,andIwouldsitverystill,hopinghe’dgoawaybecauseitwasonethingtospyandanothertobespiedon.SonowI’mdriving,whichiswhyIdon’tmindthatTravisisnatteringonor

thatBaileyisaskingmeaboutJackandmeandisthereanythingbetweenusthatmeanssomethingandisthereaJackandLibbyinanyway,shape,orformthatsheshouldknowabout.Mr.Dominguezbarksdirectionsatme,andatsomepointyellsatthetwoofthemtoshutup.Eventhoughthisismyfirsttimebehindthewheel,I’mgoodatit.Likeit’s

effortless.IfeelATHOMEhere.Andatsomepointithitsme—I’mdriving.AsinI’mactuallydrivingacar.Likeanormalperson.Likethatperson

passingmeontheothersideoftheroad.Likethepersoninfrontofme.Likethepersonbehindme.Likeallthesepeoplewalkingdownthestreetwhoprobablyhavecarsandlicensesoftheirown.IAMDRIVINGACAR!ThisisonemorethingI’llnevergettosharewithmymom,andbeforeI

knowit,I’mcrying.Imissher,butlookatmebehindthewheel,steeringusdownthestreet.Lookatmewaitingatthisstoplight.Lookatmemakingthisturn.Mr.Dominguezsays,“Whatthehellareyoudoing?”

Withouttakingmyeyesfromtheroad,Isay,“I’mcrying.Andalsodriving.I’mcryinganddriving!”Thismakesmecryharder,andthetearsarebothhappyandsad.Baileyleansupandgivesmyshoulderasqueeze,andIcanhearher

sniffling.Dominguezgoes,“Doweneedtostopthecar?”“Never!Iwanttodrivefordays!”SuddenlyI’mtalkingonlyinexclamation

marks.AndthenIcheckmymirrorsand,eventhoughDominguezhasn’ttoldmeto,IgobeeliningforthehighwayentrancebecauseIcan’tholdmyselfback.Ineedtoturnthiscarloose.Travisyells,“Floorit!”AndBaileyletsoutalittlesquealasshegoesflying

backagainsttheseat.I’mstillcrying,butnowI’malsolaughingbecauseI’mfree,andnoneof

themcanpossiblyunderstand.“Youwillneverknowwhatit’sliketobetrappedinyourhouselikeaveal,”IsaytoMr.Dominguez.“Thisisthebestdayofmylife!”Eventome,mylaughtersoundsmaniacal,butitdoesn’tfeelthatway.Itfeelsbigandsincereandendless,likeIcouldlaughfromnowuntiltheendofmylifewithoutinterruption.Andasridiculousasitsounds,Imeanit.Thisisthebestdayofmylife.I’m

onthehighwaynowandeverythingiswhooshingby,butthenIstartwhooshingalongwithitall,justlikeeveryoneelse,likeIactuallybelongouthereinthisworld.LikeIcoulddriveallthewayupintotheclouds,propelledbyhappinessandfreedom.Someoneturnsonthemusic—“AllRightNow”byFree.Intherearview

mirrorIcanseeTravisair-banginghishead,andpoorBaileyclutchingatmyseat,blondhairblowingeverywhere.ThesongplaysonandonasIpracticepassinginandoutoflanes,longenoughthateventuallyallofus,evenBailey,singthechorus.Twoblocksfromschool,Mr.Dominguezmakesusrollupthewindowsand

situpstraight.ButasIpullintotheparkinglot,we’reallstillsinging.

AftertheConversationCircle,LibbyandIwalkoutofthegymtogether.Wewalkupthestairsandthroughthehalls,sidebyside,andthenwewalkouttotheparkinglot.Iwanttoholdherhand,butIdon’t,andmybraingrabsontothiswithbothfists.Whydon’tyouholdherhand?Keshawn,Natasha,andtherestofthemareaheadofus,soit’sjustLibbyandme.Isay,“Iwaswondering,hypotheticallyspeaking,ifyou’dgooutwithme

thisweekend.”Sheeitherpretendstothinkaboutthisoractuallythinksaboutthis.“Takeyourtime.You’vegotapproximatelytwomoreminutestorespond.”“Untiltheofferexpires?”“UntilIaskyouagain.”Shegivesmeasmilethat’sallslinkyandseductive.Inthislowvoice,she

goes,“Ithink,hypothetically,itsoundslikefun.”

Jackisfiveminutesearly.Hishairisaswildlygiganticasusual,butdamp,asifhejuststeppedoutoftheshower,andI’msittingnexttohimonthecouch,andhesmellslikesoapandsomuchman.Itrynottostareathishands,restingonhisknees,atthewayhisskinlooksevenmoregoldagainstthedarkblueofhisjeans.I’vewarnedmydadthatJackiscoming.ThatJackismyfriend.ThatJackis

takingmeoutforMYFIRSTDATEEVER.Yes,thesameJackyoumetintheprincipal’soffice.Iholdmybreathaswesit,thethreeofus(four,countingGeorge,blinkingat

Jackfromthebackofmydad’schair),inanawkwardtriangleofSoManyThingsNotBeingSaid.MydadandJackaremakingchitchat,andJackdoesmostofthetalking.Mydadwatcheshimlikehe’stryingtouncoverhistrueintentions.Heisn’tnecessarilybeingwarmandfriendly,buthe’snotbeingrudeeither,whichissomethingtobegratefulfor.ButthenWillStroutgoes,“YoucanimaginehowsurprisedIwaswhen

Libbytoldmeshewantedtogooutwithyou.”“Ican.”“Iknowmydaughter ’samazing,butthequestionisifyoudo.”“I’mlearningthat.”“Sheseemstotrustyou,andshewantsmetotrustyoutoo.”“Iunderstandwhyyouwouldn’t.AllIcandoistrytoprovemyselftoboth

ofyou,sir.”“CanyougivemethreegoodreasonsIshouldletherleavethehousewith

youtonight?”

“Iactedlikeanasshole,butI’mnotanasshole.Inevermeanttohurtyourdaughter.Iwouldneverpurposelyhurtyourdaughter.”Dadlooksatme,andItrytogivehimalookthatsaysPleaseforgivehim

andletmegosothatIdon’tdieanoldmaid,andbesidesIreallylikehim,evenifyouthinkitsoundscrazy,andplease,pleasetrustme.HesaystoJack,“Sowhereareyouplanningontakingmydaughterthis

evening?”Hekeepssayingmydaughterlikehe’stryingtodrivethepointhome.THISISMYCHILD,MYFLESHANDBLOOD.DOYOUKNOWHOWDEADYOUWILLBEIFYOUDOANYTHINGTOMESSWITHMYONLYKID?!“Ithoughtwe’dseeamovieandgetsomethingtoeat.”“You’llbringherhomebyeleveno’clock.”Me:“I’majuniorinhighschool.”Dad:“Yes,youare.”Me:“Howaboutmidnight?”Dad:“Howabouttenthirty?”Me(toJack):“Ineedtobehomebyeleven.”Jack(laughing):“Notaproblem.Ipromisetogetherhomebythen,ifnot

before.”Nottoomuchbefore,Ithink.Mydadsaystohim,“Whenwasthelasttimeyouhadyourcarserviced?”AndnowIcan’ttellifhe’sjustmessingwithJackorifhe’sbeingserious.I

trytosendhimatelepathicmessage:Pleasestopthis.Pleaselightenup.There’sagoodchancehe’sgoingtodestroymychancesherebeforeIcan,andmaybeJackisn’tmylastopportunitytohaveamalenonrelationloveme,buthe’scertainlymybestopportunityrightnow,andbesides,Iactuallylikehim.IlikeJackMasselin.“August.I’mactuallyprettyhandy,soIdiditmyself.”Dadstudieshimforwhatseemsliketherestofmylife.“Youknow,your

fatherandIwenttoschooltogether.Weplayedonthefootballteaminmiddleschoolandinhighschool.”Andit’snotexactlyI’msothrilledyou’retakingmydaughterout,butit’s

something.

InthecarIsay,“I’msorryaboutmydad.”“Areyoukidding?Hehaseveryreasontokickmyass.IfIwashim,I’d

neverletmenearyou.”ButallIhearisIjustwanttobenearyou,LibbyStrout.Iwanttokissyour

lipsrightoffyourface.

Jacksays,“He’sjustprotective,andheshouldbe,especiallyafterwhatIdidtoyou.That’showI’dbeifIeverhadadaughter.”ButwhatIhearisIwillalwaysbeprotectiveofyou.Iwillalwayslookafter

youandourdaughter,theonewe’regoingtohavetogetherafterwegetmarriedandIamlovingyouforever.I’minthesamecar,onlyfifteenyearsinthefuture—somewherefaraway

fromAmos.JackMasselinisnexttomelikeheisnow,onlyourkidsareinthebackseat,ormaybejustonekid—thedaughter—myhandonhisleg.Istareathislegandthenathishandsonthewheel.Ibetyou’llbeawonderfulfather.I’mnotsurewherewe’regoing,butwe’reheadedtotheeastsideoftown,

wheretherestaurantsandthemovietheaterare.ThisiswheremydadandIliveduntiltheyhadtodestroyourhousetogetmeout.Asifhecanreadmymind,Jacksays,“Didn’tyouusetoliveonthissideof

town?”“Onceuponatime.Sowherearewegoing?”Hegrinsatme,andImeltintotheseat.Myinsideshavegonewarmandsoft,

andIleanintothisfeelingbecauseit’snotsomethingIhaveallthetime.It’sokaytobehappy,IhearRachelsay.It’sokaytoletyourselfenjoythegoodtimes.Tonightcouldbethenight.MyPaulinePotterwork-off-the-weightsexnight.

JackMasselin,youjustmightbemyfirst.Hesays,“Iwasthinkingwe’dgetsomethingtoeatandtakeitfromthere.”

ButhemightaswellsayI’mtakingyoutothemoonandback,andwhilewe’reupthere,I’mgoingtocollectthestarsforyousothatyoucankeepthem.AndsuddenlyI’mthinkingaboutthedaughterwe’redestinedtohave.

Beatrice,Ithink.We’llnameherBeatrice.

WedrivepastOliveGarden,Applebee’s,andtheRedLobsterthatopenedlastmonth.I’mmentallytickingthroughalltherestaurantsintown—therearen’tmany—butwepassoneaftertheother.Ihalfexpecthimtojustcirclearoundandtakemehome,nofood,nodate.OrmaybedriveacrosstheOhiolinewherenoonewillrecognizehimormeorus.Butthenwe’releavingAmos,andmyheartdeflatesalittle,whichtellsmeI

didn’tactuallyexpecthimtodothis,andnowhe’sdoingit—smugglingmeovercitylineslikethedaughterofsomewealthyoilbaron.“Wherearewegoing?”Myvoicesoundsflat,asifit’sunderriddenasemi

aboutfiftytimes.“Richmond.”

“Richmond?”ItcomesoutsoundinglikeAREYOUF-INGKIDDINGME?RICHMOND?!WHYDON’TYOUJUSTCHAINABOULDERTOMYLEGANDTHROWMEINTHERIVER?“Yes,Richmond.There’snowayI’mtakingyoutooneoftheusualdumps

intown.Notlookinglikethat.”

Clara’sPizzaKingisaninstitution.It’sthebestpizzaformiles,andthere’sareddouble-deckerbusparkedinthediningroom.Theplaceiscrowded,butI’vecalledahead.Wecansitinthebusoratacornertableupstairsthathasaporchswingononeside.Libbychoosestheporchswing.Wemovethroughthetables,Libbyinfrontofme,andIseepeoplestaringat

her.ThishappenswhenI’mwithCaroline—peoplelookather.ButtheylookatCarolinebecauseshe’sthekindoftall,sexygirlyoulookat.Aswewalk,Icanseewherethepathistootight,whereLibbywillhaveto

squeezethrough.IoffertogofirstbecausethatwayIcanchoosewhichwaytogososhedoesn’thavetoworryaboutit.I’mclearingtheway,andpeoplearegawking,andithitsmethatupuntilrecently,Iwasoneofthem.Maybenotthesnickeringones,buttheonessittingnexttothem.Idon’tknowwhattofeelordo,soIstareback.DoIknowthemornotknowthem?Idon’tevencare.They’rewatchingherandme,andthistableofboysstartssayingshit.Doesshehearthem?Ican’ttell.Probably.Ithrowmyheadback—amoveIliketothinkmakesmyhairinstantlygrowtwentytimesbigger,andmetenfeettaller—andIgivethemtheeye.Theygetquiet.Upstairs,Libbytakesaseatontheswing,andnowIcansitontheotherside

ofthetableorIcansitnexttoher.Ithink,Fuck’emall,thesepeoplewhoarestaring.Isay,“Isthatspacetaken?”Inoddownattheswing.“Youdon’thaveto.”“What?”“Sitbyme.”“Moveit,sister.”

Sheshovesover,andwerockbackandforth,likewe’rekickingbackonourfrontporchonasummerafternoon.Eachtablehasanactualphone—theold-fashionedkindwithacord—andafterIcallinourorder,Itakeherhand.Isay,“Mypalmsaresweaty.”“Why?”“I’mnervous.”“Why?”“BecauseI’msittingnexttoyouonthisswingandyou’rebeautiful.”Shehesitates,likeshe’snotsurewhethertotakethecompliment.Butthen

shesays,“Thankyou.”Beingoutintheworldwithherisdifferentfrombeingalonewithher.For

one,therearetoomanyotherpeople.Fortwo,I’monguard,readytotakeonanyonewhotriestogetitstartedwithherorme.Forthree,it’smakingmethinkaboutherweightinawayIhaven’treally,trulythoughtaboutuntilrightthismoment.We’resittingthereinsilence,soIdecidetotellheraboutDr.AmberKlein

andthetestsandeverythingIhaven’ttoldheraboutmytimeasJackMasselin,LabRat.Libby’snotsayinganything,butIcantellshe’slistening.Herheadiscockedtooneside,andIcanseehereyestakingitallin.Finallyshegoes,“Howdoyoufeel?”“Thesame.Maybealittleworse.Maybealittlebetter.”“Areyougoingtotellyourparents?”“Idon’tthinkso.What’sthepoint,right?Imean,there’snothinganyofus

cando,shortofdownloadingfacialrecognitionsoftwaredirectlyintothisbrainofmine.Tellingthemwon’tmagicallycreateacure.It’lljustgivethemmoreshittoworryabout.”“I’msorry.Iwantedtheretobesomethingtheycoulddoforyou.Not

becauseyourbrainisn’tawesomethewayitis,butbecauseitwouldmakeyoufeelbetter.”Nowit’smyturntonotsayanything.Isitlookingatheruntilit’sjustus,

Libbyandme,nooneelseformiles.WhatIwanttodomorethananythingiskissher.Ialmostdo,butthenthewaitressisstandingtherewithourfood.Asweeat,Libbyisglancingaround,andfinallyshelooksatmeandgoes,

“Richmond,huh?”Andthere’ssomethinginhertonethatmakesmesetdownmydrink.“Ithoughtyou’dlikeClara’s.”“IdolikeClara’s.It’sjustthatIwouldhavebeenokay,youknow,going

somewhereinAmos.”Andthenshestaresofftowardthebus.

Isay,“Listen,Imaybekeepingthefaceblindnessasecretfornow,butthatdoesn’tmeanIwanteverythinginmylifetobeasecret.Itdoesn’tmeanIwanttokeepyouasecret.Iwouldneverhideyouaway,ifthat’swhatyou’rethinking.”AsIsayit,Iaskmyself,IsthatwhatI’mdoing?Shestartsblinkingatthetable,atthemenu,anywhereelsebutatme.“Holyshit.That’swhatyouwerethinking.ThatIbroughtyououtheresowe

wouldn’trunintoanyone.”“No.”“Good,becausethatwouldbecrazy.”Sowhydidyoubringherhere,asshole?“Imeanyes.”“Uh,becausethatwouldn’tbecrazyatall.”Nowhereyesfindmine.“Okay,”

Isay.“Igetit.I’mkingdouchelordandyoutrustmebutyoudon’t.Youdon’tknowmewellenoughtoknowhowdeepthedoucherygoes.”ThewholewhileI’maskingmyself,Howdeepdoesthedoucherygo?What

ifitgoesdeeperthanyouthink?Shesays,“Maybenot.”AndIhatethecareful,closed-offtonebecauseit’s

likeafencebetweenus.“Listen.Ibroughtyouherebecauseyou’rebetterthansomeshittyAmos

chainrestaurant.IbroughtyouherebecausewhenIwassix,Ifellofftheroofofourhouse,andmydadsmuggledaClara’spizzaintothehospital,andthosekindsofmemoriesareprettyrareformerightnow—theoneswheremydadisthisreallygreatguy.IbroughtyouherebecausethisisthefirstplaceIwantedtogoafterIgotoutofthehospitalandwaswellenoughtositupstraight.Ibroughtyouherebecauseit’soneofthefewplacesinasixty-mileradius,ifnottheentirestateofIndiana,thatisn’tboringortypical.Becauseyou’renotboringortypical.”AndIrealizeeverywordistrue.Ireachoverthefenceandtakeherhand.Ikisstheknuckles,onebyone.AsI

doI’mthinking,Howdoesthisgirlmeansomuchtome?“LibbyStrout,youdeservetobeseen.”“Peoplecan’thelpbutseeme.”Shesaysthistothetablecloth.“That’snotwhatImean.”Wesitthereswinging,andnowI’mkickingmyselfforbringingherhere.I

shouldhavejustgonetoRedLobsterwherewecouldhavebeenstaredatbyeveryoneatschool,includingmaybeCaroline,andwheremyidiotfriendscouldhavecomeoverandhijackedourdatewiththeirstupidity.Isay,“Waithere,”andthenI’mupandoutoftheswing,downthestairs,and

overtothejukebox,whichhugsthewallbehindthebus.Thisisthesame

jukeboxmyparentsusedtoplaywhentheywerecominghereondatesaboutsixtyyearsago.AsI’mflippingthroughthemusicalchoices,I’mthinkingabouthowLibbyStroutmakesmewanttodrivethirtymilestotheclosestplacethatisalmostgoodenoughforherandrunthroughcrowdedrestaurantstofindhertheperfectsong.AndthenIseeit.TheJackson5.IchoosethesongIwaslookingforand

alsoacoupleofothers—SlyandtheFamilyStone,Earth,Wind&Fire—sowecanhaveawholeblockofthem.ThenIgobacktothetable,whichisthetableintheuppernorthwestcorner,theonewiththegirlinthepurpledress.Shesays,“Youdidn’thavetodothat.Youdon’thavetodoanything.I’m

beingdumb.”“Youcouldneverbedumb.”“Icanbedumb.”Shetakesabiteofpizza.Itakeabiteofpizza.Weeatinthisweirdsilence.Andthensuddenlythesongisplaying,asinthesong.Iwipemymouthwith

thenapkinandtossitaside.I’monmyfeet,handout.Libbyblinksupatme.“What?”“Comeon.”“Where?”“Justcomeon.”AndIleadherdownthestairstothecenterofClara’s,righttotheoneopen

spot,atthefrontoftherestaurant,neartheentrancetothediningroom.ThenIspinherintomyarms,andwe’redancing.Ohsoslowly.“I’llBeThere”istheobviouschoice,buttheoneIchoseis“Ben.”IfeverasongwaswrittenforLibbyandme,it’sthisone.Twobroken,lonelypeoplewhomaybearen’tsobrokenorlonelyanymore.AtfirstI’mawareofeveryeyeintheroomonus,butthenallthefacesfade

away,andit’sjustLibbyandme,myhandsonherwaist,allthatwomaninmyarms.We’reinperfectsync,movingtogether,makingitupaswego.

Icanfeelthetearsburningagainstthebacksofmyeyes.Everylineisme,LibbyStrout.It’sus,butmostlyme.AndalsoJack.God.IcouldcryinthearmsofJackMasselinasanentirerestaurantofstrangers

watches,orIcouldpushthetearsbackanddownuntilthey’reburied.Ipushthem.Andpushthem.Iwon’tletthemout.Atsomepoint,heleansinand,justlikethat,withoutaword,kissesmyface,firstonecheekandthentheother.HekissesmewherethetearswouldbeifI’dletthemfall,andit’sthesingleloveliestthinganyonehaseverdonewhowasn’tmymom.SuddenlyI’mfilledwiththissafe,warmfeelingthatIhaven’tfeltinareallylongtime.It’sthefeelingofeverythingisgoingtobeokay.Youaregoingtobeokay.Youmayalreadybeokay.Let’susbeokaytogether,justyouandme.Isuckinmybreathanddon’tbreatheagainuntilthesongisover.The

jukeboxgoesjumpingrightintothenexttrack,whichisafastone,thankgoodness,andthat’swhenJackbreaksoutthemoves.Hesays,“Getaloadofthis,girl.Ifyoucanhandleit.”Andheisgroovingallovertheplace.“Handlethis!”AndI’mdancingtoo,tillwe’redancinglikelunatics,andI

don’tfeellikecryinganymoreeveragain.Hegoes,“DotheExplodingHair!”Andheshakeshisheadtotheleft,totheright,tothemiddle.Hehasan

unfairadvantagebecausehishairissomuchbigger,butIdomybesttoshakemyhairallaround.Igo,“DotheLightningStrike!”AndIjumpandshake,jumpandshakelike

I’mbeingelectrified.Hestartsjumpingandshakingtoo,andatsomepoint,I

lookaroundandahandfulofotherpeopleareontheirfeetanddancingattheirtables.Jacksays,“It’sadancerevolution!”HetakesmyhandandtwirlsmeroundandroundsothatI’mspinninglikea

topandlaughing.Ithinkwhatanamazingworldthiswouldbeifwealldancedeverywherewewent.

Hewalksmetothefrontdoorofmyhouse,andwhenwegetthereIwaitforhimtokissmegoodnight,butinsteadhehugsme.Thisisn’taFatGirlRodeohug.It’swarmandenvelopinginagoodway,andIcansmellthesoapandoutdoorsonhim,likeherolledinfreshgrass.Iwanthimtoholdmeforever,butthenhepullsawayandgazesdownatmewithhalf-closedeyes.“Goodnight,Libby.”AndIsay,“Goodnight,Jack.”AndIgoinsideandmydadisthere,andItell

himaboutthedinnerandthenIgotomyroomandclosethedoorandsitonthebedandthink,Whythehelldidn’thewanttokissme?Myphonebuzzes.Bestdateever.Followedby:Ican’twaittodoitagain.Followedby:ThischickMaryKatherinereallyremindsyouofus?From

whatIcantell,she’sprettymuchbatsinthebelfry.Iwrite:Yes,butinakindoflovableway.She’sgotthisbigsecret,andno

oneunderstandsher.Doesthathelpyoumaketheconnection?Hewritesback:OhIdidn’tsayIdon’tseetheconnection,buttellmeyou

don’tthinkwe’rethatcrazy.Me:Ithinkwe’reevencrazier.Jack:I’llbuythat.Afewminuteslater,hewrites:Ican’tstopreading.Thismaybethebest

birthdaypresentI’veevergotten,nexttothesolderingirontheygavemewhenIturnednine.Me:That’swhatIlikeaboutyou.Somanly,yetsocerebral.Jack:Thoseareonlytwoofthemany,manythingsyoulikeaboutme.

Anddon’tgetmestartedonwhatIlikeaboutyou.I’llnevergetthisbookread,andit’smylife’smissiontofinishittonight.Hetextsmeoffandonthroughtherestofthenight,givingmearunning

commentaryonwhathe’sreading.Eventually,Ifallbackintothepillows,abig,loopysmileonmyface.Hemaynothavekissedmeafterourdate,butit’salmostdefinitely,undeniably,absolutelyguaranteedthathewill.

Mondaymorning,atallgirlwithdarkskinandapainted-onbeautymarkfindsmeatmylocker.“Jack.”Caroline.“Yes?”Justincaseitisn’therbutsomeothertallgirlwithdarkskinandapainted-

onbeautymarkbyoneeye.“Didyouhaveagoodweekend?”“Thanksforasking.Yes,Idid.”“Youknowwhatpeoplearesaying,don’tyou?”Andhereitcomes.“ThatI’monebadassdude?”“Aboutthatgirl.ThatLibbyStrout.Andyou.They’resayingyou’redating

her.Thatshe’syournewgirlfriend.Iwaslike,Iknowthatcan’tbetrue,butthey’relike,no,it’strue.HetookhertoClara’s.”“Whois‘they’?”“Itdoesn’tmatter.”Icanhearthehurtinhervoice,buriedunderneathallthevenom.Iwantto

sayIt’sokaytobeaperson.We’reallafraid.Weallgethurt.It’sokaytohurt.You’dbesomuchmorelikableifyoujustactedhuman.“We’renottogetheranymore,Caroline,so,uh,nottoberude,butwhydo

youcare?”“Ithinkit’ssweetthatyouwanttobenicetoherafterwhatyoudid,butI’m

justconcernedabouther.Girlslikethat,youcan’tmessaroundwiththem,

Jack.”Sheshakesherhead.“Youcouldendupbreakingherheart.”“Wehaven’tdefinedanythingyet,butifyou’reaskingmeifIlikehanging

outwithher?Absolutely.AnddoIthinkshe’sonecoolchick?Yes.DoIthinkshe’sbeautiful?Yeah,Ido.Ireallydo.I’mnotmessingaroundwithher.Ilikeher.Anyotherquestions?”Shestandsthere,perfectlycomposed,perfectlyCaroline,andsays,“You

know,youthinkyou’reallthat,youpretendtobeallthat,butyou’renot.”“IknowI’mnot.WhichisallthemorereasonI’mgratefulshelikesme

anyway.”

Athome,IdigthroughthepileofclothesonmyflooruntilIcomeupwiththejeansI’mlookingfor.Ipulltheballofwadded-uppaperoutofthebackpocket.Top10ReasonstoDateaFatGirl.Imakemyselfrereadit.It’slikeIneedtoprovetomyselfonceandforall

thatshe’sfatandIdon’tcare.Everywordofthearticlemakesmesick.HowcouldIeverfeelanythingbut

luckythatthisgirllikesme?Igodownstairstothekitchen,walkdirectlytothestove,turnononeofthe

burners,andwavethepaperoverthegasflametillitcatchesfire.Iholdthepaperupandawayfromthestoveandwatchasthewordsburnaway.AndthenIdropwhat’sleftofthepaperintothesink,whereitburnsitselfintoapileofashes.Iturnonthefaucetandwashtheremainsdownthedrain,andforgoodmeasure,flicktheswitchtothegarbagedisposalandletitgrind.

Backinmyroom,IcallLibby.Whensheanswers,Isay,“Ifinishedthebook.”“And?”“One,itwasprettydamnterrifying.Two,MaryKatherineBlackwoodwas

madasafuckinghatter.Three,Iseewhyyouloveit.Four,itmighthaveremindedmeofusjustalittle,althoughI’dliketoarguethatwe’reslightlymoresane.Andfive,Ithinkitwouldbeprettyfuckingawesometoliveinacastlewithyou.”

Inmynightstand,underneathmyheadphones,mylipbalm,andanassortmentofbookmarks,IpulloutaletterwrittenonChristmasstationery.

ThesearefordancingaloneonstageOrinyourroomOranywhereyourheartdesires.Theyarefordancinginyourdreams—dancingtowardyourfuture—dancinginloveandcreativityandjoy—dancingbecausethatiswhatyoudo.Becausethat’swhoyouare,nomatterwhat,insideandoutside.Youjustkeepondancing.

Theshoesthatcamewiththisletterareinmycloset.They’refromtheChristmasbeforemymomdied.TheywillalwaysbethelastpresentIevergetfromher,andIneedtokeepthemsafeforever,whichiswhyI’veneverwornthem.ButrightnowI’msittingdownandpullingapartthetissuepaperandtaking

theshoesoutoftheirboxandtyingthemonmyfeet.Theyarepinkballettoeshoes,andtheyaretheloveliestthingIown.Eventhoughsheboughtthemtoobig,they’retoosmallformenowandhardtowalkin,butIshuffleovertomylaptopandturnonsomemusic.I’mgoingold-schoolwiththeSpiceGirls,abandmymomsecretlyloved.Thesongis“WhoDoYouThinkYouAre,”and

itmakesmethinkofmymom,ofme,ofwhereImightgooneday,ofwhatImightbe.MyDamselsauditionisSaturday.Iknowmyroutinebyheart.Icoulddoitin

mysleep.ButrightnowIdomyownmade-updancethat’skindofaballet-hip-hop-electric-slide-shimmy-popandIamamazing.Iamthebestdancerever.Iamasuperstar.Theshoesaremagic.Myfeetaremagic.Iammagic.

SATURDAY

Marcus(tall,shaggyhair,pointychin)standsoverthekitchensink,shovelingfoodintohisface.Istarttohelpmyselftothecoffee,andthat’swhenIhear,“Isaidno.”AwomanwalksinfollowedbyamanwearinganofficialMasselin’sstore

shirt.Hismouthisopeninmidsentence,butheclosesitwhenheseesMarcusandme.Byprocessofelimination,thesearemyparents.Momsaystome,“Putthecoffeedownnow.”Thensaystomydad,“We’ll

talkaboutitlater,”andit’sclearthey’reinthemiddleofanargument.Ireachforthelargestmugwehaveandpourmyselfacupofcoffee.MomasksDadjustwhatdoeshewanthertodo,andshesoundslikeshe’s

swallowingrazorblades,liketheguyatSadCarnival,aswecallit,theoneoutbyBigLots.Itrynottoeavesdrop,butIcanfeelmywholebodygoonalert,thewayitalwaysdoeswhentheyargue.Dadsaystomymom,“Tonight.”“Nottonight.”MarcusandIlookateachother.Hemouths,“Whatnow?”Dadgoes,“There’sslowsurgeryandthere’srippingofftheBand-Aid,

Sarah.”“Isaidnottonight.”Shefixeshereyesonme,andsheisnothappy.“Ineed

youtopickupDustyafteryou’redonetoday.”“Fromwhere?”“FromTams’shouse.”PickingupDustyorMarcusoranyoneisnormally

thelastthingIeveragreeto.Trynotbeingabletorecognizeanyoneandthenhavingtogofindthem.ButthismorningI’mnotabouttoarguewithmymom.

Evenwithhalfofthebleachersfoldedup,thenewgymisanenormousplace.Youcanbarelyseetheceilingfromthefloor,andthelightsareblinding.Fromupabove,Iwouldlooknolargerthananant.Andallatonce,that’swhatIfeellike—anant.Mypalmsaresweating.Myheartisclenching,butnotunclenching.Ican’t

catchmybreath.Iwatchasitrunsoutofthegymasfastasitcan,justlikeIwanttodo.WHYINTHEHELLDIDIVOLUNTEERTODOTHIS?HeatherAlpernandherthreesquadcaptainssitinchairs,legscrossed.The

squadcaptainsareallseniors,andtheylookidentical,theirhairslickedbackintoponytails,facesshining.IfindtheirsamenessalmostasterrifyingasMs.Alpern’scatlikebeauty.MostterrifyingofallisCarolineLushamp,captainofthesquadcaptains,wholockshereyesonmelikeasquid.AfewotherDamselwannabesaresprinkledalongthebottomrowofthebleachers,waitingtheirturnstotryout.Carolinesays,“Areyouready?”inthissuper-friendlytonethatis

completelyunnatural.IcanbarelyhearherbecauseIamtrappedinmymindandbody,shivering

andafraid.IsuddenlyfeellikeIhavefaceblindnessbecausenoonelooksfamiliarornice,andmyeyesareflyingalloverthegym,searchingforhelp.TheylandonBailey,Jayvee,andIris,attheverytopofthebleachers.Whentheyseemelookingatthem,theygoblank,andmaybetheycanseemyterror.Whichmeanseveryoneelsecanprobablyseeittoo.Itellmyselftomove,to

hidethatterrorandstuffitdownandoutofsight,andthenJayveewavesherarmsandyells,“Shineon,youcrazydiamond!”Youvolunteeredtodothisbecausethedanceisinyou.AndthenIthinkof

somethingmymomusedtosay,abouthowasscaryasitistogoafterdreams,it’sevenscariernotto.“Areyouready?”Carolinedoesn’tsoundassuper-friendlythistime.“Yes,”Isay.AndthenIshout,“Yes!”Formyauditionsong,Ichose“Flashdance…WhataFeeling”byIrene

Cara,inhonorofmymom,inhonorofme.AsIwaitforthemusictobegin,Itellmyself,Toomanypeopleinthisworldthinksmallisthebesttheycando.Notyou,LibbyStrout.Youweren’tbornforsmall!Youdon’tknowhowtodosmall!Smallisnotinyou!AndthenthesongtakesoffandsodoI.Shimmyshimmykickkick.Shakeboomboom.Ittakesmeabouttwentysecondstoforgetaboutthestaringfacesandallthat

shiny,pulled-backhairandwhichofthegirlsonthebleachersmayormaynotbeabetterdancerthanIamandthefactthatI’mtwiceasbigasanyoneinthisroom.Afterthatfirstthirtyseconds,Idisappearintothesong.Ibecomeonewiththemusic,onewiththedance.Kick.Bend.Twist.Flickflick.Shimmy.Shakeshakeshake.Boom.Kickkick.

Pop.Twist.Bend.Flick.Shimmy.Shake.Kick.Boomboomboom.I’mcarriedawayonthenotes,acrossthegym,highupintotherafters,out

thedoors,andthroughtheschool,allthewaytoPrincipalWasserman’soffice,untilI’moutsideinthesun,underthesky.Twirltwirltwirl…AndthenI’minthesky.AndnowIamthesky!IsailoverAmos,across

Interstate70,overintoOhio,andfromtheretoNewYorkandtheAtlantic,andthentoEngland,toFrance…I’meverywhere.I’mglobal.Iamuniversal.

Iend,outofbreath,suddenlybackinthegym.Thegirlsonthebleachersarestandingupandwhistling.Theyclapandstamptheirfeet,andmyfriendsarethewildestofall.Overbytheentrancetothecourt,IseeJackMasselin,paint-spatteredandbeaminglikethesun.He’sslow-clapping,andthenhetapshisforeheadinasalutebeforevanishing.Heandtherestofmyfellowdelinquentsarepaintingthebleacherstoday.HeatherAlpernsays,“Libby,thatwaswonderful.”Andforthefirsttime,I

lookdirectlyather.Carolinegoes,“Howtallareyou?”

Andsomethinginherloud,flatvoicemakesmystomachdrop.Thegirlsonthebleachersfallquietandsettlebackintotheirseats.“I’mfivesix.”“Howmuchdoyouweigh?”“Onehundredtwentypounds.”Everyonestares.“I’msorry,didyoumeanmyphysicalweightormyspiritualweight?”Thegirlsonthebleachersgiggle.Iamdripping,butIdabatmyupperlip

andthebackofmyneckasdemurelyasQueenElizabeth.“Theweightthatdetermineswhatsizecostumeyouwouldneed.”Isay,“Isthereaweightlimitforthissquad?”Carolinestartstospeak,butHeatherAlperninterruptsher.“Technically,

thereisnotalimit.Wedon’tdiscriminateagainstsize.”Buttheydo.Icanhearitinthecarefulwayshe’spickingherwordsandIcanseeitinthetightcornersofhersmile.“Sowhydoyouneedtoknowmyweight?”Carolinesighs.Loudly.LikeI’masdumbasarock.“Forcostumesize.”

Thenshesmilesthisslowmovie-villainsmile.“Wouldyoubewillingtoloseweightifyouwerewanted?”Thewordechoesacrossthecourt.“Youknow.Ifyouweretomaketheteam?”Ms.Alpernshootsheralook.“Caroline.”Isay,“Howmuchweightarewetalkingabout?”Carolinesays,“Ahundredpounds,probablymore.Twohundred-fifty,

maybe.”Whichisridiculous,becausethatwouldmeanI’dweighaboutthesameasmyauntTillie’sdog,Mango.Likethat,I’makidagaininballetclass,andCarolineismyteacher,

frowningatmeinthissameexactway,awaythattellsmeIdon’tbelonghere,eventhoughIprobablybelongmorethananyofthembecausethedanceisinme,andthere’salotmoreofmethanthereisofthem,whichmeansthereisalotmoredanceinthere.“Wouldyou?”“Caroline,enough.”“YouwanttoknowifI’dbewillingtolosetwohundredpoundssothatIcan

danceinformationandcarryflagswithyou?”I’mhotwithanger,whichdoesn’thelpthedripping,butImakemyvoicequietandcontrolled.“Yes.”IfixmyeyesonMs.HeatherAlpern,becauseshe’ssupposedtobeincharge

here.“Absolutelynot.”

I’msupposedtogobackoutsidetothebleacherstoservemysentenceanddomycivicduty,butIcan’t.InsteadIcallRachelandaskifshecantakemehome.

Bythetimewefinishpaintingthelockerrooms,it’salmost5p.m.Theskyisthickwithgrayandtheairisheavy,thewayitalwaysfeelsbeforeitrains.

ThroughthewidewindowofTams’shouse,Icanseeaclumpofkids,andIthink,Great.ThisiswhyIdon’tvolunteertopickDustyup,becausethisrighthereisthestuffofnightmares.Ican’tfindhiminacrowd,andmyparentsthinkDusty’stooyoungforaphone,soit’snotlikeIcantexthimtosayI’mcoming,waitoutside.ThefewtimesIdogogethim,Iusuallywaitinthecarandblowthehorn.Becausethisapparentlyisn’taone-on-oneTamsandDustyplaydate

situationbuttheten-year-oldequivalentofCoachella,thisiswhatIdonow.Therainpeltsthewindshieldlikegunfire.Theclumpofkidsdoesn’tmove,soIhonkagain.Iwaitacouplemoreminutes,andthenIturnoffthecarandtwistthe

rearviewmirrorsoIcanlookatmyself.Theguywhostaresbackatmehasseenbetterdays.He’sstillgotasplitlip,andaneyethat’sfadingfromblackandbluetoviolet,thankstodefendingJonnyRumsford.Super.IsearchforanythingIcanuseascoverage,formyfaceandfromthe

monsoon.There’sanoldjacket,whichmustbelongtoMarcus,waddeduponthefloorbelowthebackseat.Igrabitandlungeoutintotherain,joggingupthewalk,jacketwrappedaroundmyhead.Icanhearthemadchatterofathousandhigh-pitchedvoicesasIringthedoorbell.Thedoorfliesopen,andI’mgreetedbyablondwomanwithshort-croppedhair.This,Ithink,is

Tamara’smom.Sheinvitesmein,andIsaythroughthejacket,“That’sokay.Idon’twanttobringallthiswaterin.Ifyoucouldjustsendhimout.”“Nonsense,Jack.Comeonin.”Sheholdsthedooropenwider,andthewind

isblowingrainontoherandontotheflooraroundher,soIstepinside.“It’sreallycomingdown,”Isay.“You’retellingme.Theyweresupposedtobeoutsideallday.”Shelaughs,

butit’slacedwithhysteria,andIcanseehowtiredsheis.I’mhopingDustywillyellhelloorotherwiseidentifyhimself,butthekids

allblinkatme,andoneofthemsays,“It’slikeGodispeeing.”Andthismustbesomereallycleverten-year-oldjoke,thekindyouneedtobetentoappreciate,becausetheyallstartlaughinguntiltheypracticallyfalldown.Thewomansaystome,“Pleasetakemewithyou.”IlaughasIstandthere,tryingtoseemcalmandcasualandHeyman,

whatever.Meanwhile,I’mtryingtofindDustyinthebunchofkids,buttheyalllookthesame.Skinny,short,earsthatstickout.Allthekidsarewearingpartyhatsandonlyahandfulofthemareobviouslywhite.Ifeeladistantflickerofpanicinmychest.Thewomansays,“Doyouwanttostayforabit?”“That’sokay.DustyandIhavesomeplacetobe.”Iputmyhandonthe

doorknobasawayofsayingSee?Isaytotheroom,“AnyonewhoanswerstothenameDustybetterjoinmenow.”Thekidsstareatme.Inthatinstant,theflickerofpanicsparksintoan

inferno.Ifmybrotherisoneofthesestaring,silentkids,he’snotlettingon.Ilookatthegroupofthemandsayintheirgeneraldirection,“Comeon,

man.Wedon’twantyoutobelate.”Whentheydon’tbudge,Izeroinontheonewholooksthemostlikemy

brother(earsthatstickout,Adam’sapplethatsticksout,copper-brownhair)andgo,“Ifyou’reworriedaboutgettingwet,I’vegotthisjacketyoucanuse.”Andthen,becauseit’sbeenalongdayandI’msickofbeingstaredat,andbecauseI’mtellingmyselfThisisbullshit.Howcanyounotrecognizeyourownbrother?IdosomethingIneverdo—Iwalkover,leavingbig,dirtyfootprintsonthecarpet,andgrabthekid’sarmbeforeheidentifieshimself.Anddraghimtowardthedoor.TheboyI’mholdingontoisfightingme,andit’sthenIlookupandseethis

otherkidwalkintotheroom.He’sgotearsthatstickoutandanAdam’sapplethatsticksoutandcopper-brownhair,andhegoes,“Jack?”Andstartstocry.ThekidI’vejust,untilthismoment,beendraggingawayshouts,“Getoff

me!”Nowtheotherpartyguestsarebuzzing,andoneofthelittlegirlsis

cryingtoo.AsIlethimgo,thekidpracticallyspitsatme.“Assface.”Andstartsshaking.Thewomansquatsdowninfrontofhim.Shesaysinthissoothingvoice,

“It’sokay,Jeremy.Hewasjustjokingaround,butIthinkherealizesnowthatitwasn’tfunny.”Sheshootsmeahorriblelook.“Doyoureallythinkit’sfunnytocomeinhereandscarepeople?”Thisis

fromalittlegirlwithredhairwhomayormaynotbeTams.“No,Idon’t.”Iwonderhowmanyofthemknowmeandhowmanyoftheirparentswill

hearaboutthis.IfeellikeI’mgoingtobesick,andIalmostwalkout.LetDustyfindhisownwayhome.Letmymomcomegethim.Butit’sasifthefloorisholdingmethere.Myfeetarelikeanchors.Theywon’tmove.Ijuststandthere,staringpastthekidsstaringbackatme,atthekidwhowalkedin,theonewho’sstillcrying.“I’msorry.”Isayitdirectlytohimacoupleoftimes,butnooneislistening.

Thesekidscouldkillmeiftheywantedto.Therearesomanyofthem,andsmallthoughtheybe,furyisontheirside.Aneternitylater,thewomanstandsandsaysinthiscold,coldvoice,“Thatis

yourbrother,”likeI’mtheworld’sbiggestchildpredator.ShepushesDustytowardmelikeshewantsbothofusgone,likeDusty,byassociation,isalsoguilty.I’mnotanassface,notinthiswayatleast.Ihaveaconditioncalled

prosopagnosia.ItmeansIcan’trecognizefaces,noteventhefacesofthepeopleIlove.Iadd,“Theygrowsoquicklyatthisage.Makesithardtokeeptrackof

them.”AndIgrabtheactualone-and-onlyDustyanddraghimoutside.Ithrowthe

jacketathim,andhedrapesitoverhishead,butit’sclearhedoesn’twanttobenearme,sohetakeshissweettimecomingdownthewalk.I’msoakedtothebonebynow,butIholdthedooropenforhim,andashegetsinhelooksupatmewithtearsalloverhisfaceandsays,“WhywouldyoutrytokidnapJeremyMervis?”“Iwasonlyjokingaround.”Heisstudyingmethewayhedoesmyparentsthesedays,likehe’snotsure

ifhecantrustme.“Fourthgradeishardenoughwithoutbeingknownasthebrotherofachildstealer.”

Myhandsareshaking,butIdon’twanthimtosee,soIgripthewheeltillmyknucklesturnwhite,andthenaskhimtotellmeabouttheparty.Icanbarely

hearhimoverthesoundofmyheartasitgoesBAMBAMBAMagainstthewallsofmychest.

Rachelwantstoknowwhathappened.Thisisapersonwhohasseenyouthroughyourveryworst.Whenyoumether,youweretakinguptwohospitalbedsafterbeingrescuedfromyourHOUSE.Shehasbeenthereforyouandlovedyouthrougheverything,justlikeamom,onlysheisn’tyourmom.ItellherIdon’twanttotalkaboutit,notnow,andwerideinsilencemostof

thewayhome.

Inmyroom,IopenmycopyofWeHaveAlwaysLivedintheCastle.Eventhoughshe’sdoneaterrible,horrificthing,MaryKatherinedoesn’tfeelanything—nopainorremorseoremotion.Notevenwhenthevillagerstrespassacrossherpropertyandchantsongsabouther.

Merricat,saidConnie,wouldyoulikeacupoftea?Ohno,saidMerricat,you’llpoisonme.Merricat,saidConnie,wouldyouliketogotosleep?Downintheboneyardtenfeetdeep!

Merricatishappyenoughinherhousewithhersisterforcompany,butshestillthinksaboutthevillagersandwishestheirtongueswouldburnrightoutoftheirskulls.IrememberbeingsofullofpainandangerthatIwishednothingbuttongue-

burningoneveryonewhohurtme,especiallyMosesHunt.Buthere’sthething—Merricatpoisonedherentirefamily.TheonlycrimeIcommittedwasbeingfat.

“Whyweren’tyouinthelivingroomwiththeotherkids?”“Ididn’tfeellikeplayingtheirgames.Iwentouttothebackporchtostudy

mylines.”Thecryingseemstohavestopped,buthewon’tlookatmedirectly.“DidTamsandtheotherswantyoutoplaywiththem?”Heshrugs.“Idon’tthinktheymissedme.”“Buteverything’scoolwithTams,right?”Hetakesafewsecondsbeforeeachreply,andIcanhearthehurtinhis

voice.ThehurtIputthere.“Iguess.”Ilethimbe,mymindracing,myheartstillgoingBAMBAMBAM.Aswepullupinfrontofthehouse,Dustysays,“Jack?”“Yeah.”Iwanthimtotellmeheforgivesme,thathelovesmeanyway.“Ireallywishyouhadn’ttriedtokidnapJeremy.”“Metoo.”“WhatifTams’smomhadcalledthepolice?Whatiftheysentyoutojail?”

Hisvoiceshakes,andhelookslikehe’sgoingtocryagain.“I’mnotgoingtojail.Iwouldn’thaveletthemsendmetojail.Itwasjusta

misunderstanding.That’sallitwas.Igotconfused.”Hegetsoutofthecarwithoutaword,andaswegoupthewalk,Isay,“Hey,

littleman,doyoumindnotmentioningwhathappenedtodaytoMomandDad?”Therainhasletoff,butIcanstillfeelitintheair.Hehesitates,andIcantellhedoesn’twanttopromisemeanything.Ever.He

tiltshisfaceupwardandlatcheshiseyesontomine.Theseareeyesthatareshuttingmeout.Theyarelookingatmebutfromveryfaraway.Finallyhesays,“Okay.”

Afterhegoesinside,Isitdownonthefrontstep,dampasitis,becauseI’mnotreadytogoinyet.It’sbeenalongday,andtheeveningisquietandcool,likeahandagainstyourforeheadwhenyou’rerunningafever.Istareoutatthestreetandthenupatthesky.Myhandsarestillshaking.Myheartisstillpounding.Todaywasreally,reallybad.Yourbrainisbroken.Itwillnevergetbetter.Ican’ttellyouwhatJeremyMervislookslike.Ifhewastowalkdownthe

streetrightnow,Iwouldn’tbeabletorecognizehim.ButIwillneverforgetthelookofterrorinhiseyesasItriedtodraghimoutofthere.AndIwillneverforgetthelookonmybrother ’sfaceashewatched.Todaycouldhavebeenworse.IrepeatitoverandoverevenasItrytothinkofthefivewaysitcouldhave

beenmorehorrible,butIcan’tbecausereallywhat’sworsethanaccidentallytryingtokidnapsomekidyoudon’tknow?MymindgoesreelingbacktoDusty.He’scarryingaroundthingsthatIcanneverknowabout,justlikeIam,justlikeweallare.I’mnotsurewhatthesethingsofhisare,butIcanguess.Dusty’ssensitive,he’shonest.He’salittleeccentric.He’salmostcertainlygay,butIdoubtevenheknowsit.LikeLibby,he’snotgoingtopretendtobesomeonehe’snot,andhe’snotafraidtobedifferent.Butotherkidswon’talwayslikethat.Idon’tbelieveinGodanymore,ifIeverdid,butoutloudIsayakindof

prayer.Justkeephimsafe.Don’tletanyonehurthim.Andwhileyou’reatit,lookafterLibbyandoldJonnyRumsfordtoo.Andmymom.AndMarcus.AndevenDad.Idon’taddmyselftothelistbecausethatfeelsselfish.ButmaybeIthinkit,

justforaminute.Andme,Iguess,evenifIdon’tdeserveit.Maybelookoutformetoo.

WhenIgetinside,mymomisonthephonewithTams’smom,andmydadisonthephonewiththeparentsofJeremyMervis.Somuchforsecrets.Everyoneisapparentlyvery,verypissed.Mymomholdsupafingeratme.“JackHenry.Stay.”Shepointstotheliving

room.

Tenminuteslater.Mom:“Whatisthisabout?”Me:“MaybeIneedglasses.”“I’mnotjusttalkingabouttheJeremyMerviskidnapping.I’mtalkingabout

allofit,Jack.Gettingintroubleatschool.Fighting.Thisisn’tyou.”

Me:“I’vejusthadabadrun,Mom.I’mthesamelovableboyyouraised.Stillyourfavoritechild.Stillme.”Mom:“Idon’tknowwhat’shappeningwiththisfamily,butthisbehavior

endsnow.Ifthere’ssomethinggoingon,youneedtotalktous.”Andhere’smychancetospillitalloutontothefloor,rightnexttothestray

pieceofpopcornthat’spokingoutfromunderthecouchandthePlayStationremotelyingontherug.Mom:“Jack?Telluswhat’sgoingon.”Butinthatmoment,Idon’tknowwhattosay.Everythingthat’swrongwith

meseemsmadeupbecauseit’snotlikeIcanpointtoanyofitandactuallyshowthem—mydad’ssecretaffair,mysecretbraindisorder.Me:“I’msorry.I’lldobetter.That’sthebestIcando.”Ilookatmydad.

“That’sthebestanyofuscando.”Andmaybebecauseheknowssomeofthismightbehisfault,mydadsays,

“Ibelieveyou,Jack,butthisisprettybad.Youneedtomakeamendswiththefamilies.”Mom:“Wealsowantyouseeingacounselor.Mr.Levineoroneofthe

others.Nogoingoutfortwoweeks.School,work,home.That’sit.”IwanttosayTwoweeks?Groundmefortherestoftheyear.Groundmefrom

schoolwhileyou’reatit.LetmestayathomelikeMaryKatherineBlackwood,likeLibby.Itwillmakethingssomucheasier.

Ifeelalltiedup.Hands,legs,feet.Everysinglepartofme.Liketheymightaswellstuffmeinaboxandleavemethere.IcalltheMervisesfirst.AndthenTams’smom.Inthisdeadvoice,I

apologize.ItellthemI’mstillreelingfrommydad’scancer,fromallthestuffhappeningatschool.Isay,“Pleasedon’tpunishDustyformybadbehavior.He’sthebestpersonIknow.”AsIhangupthephone,Iaddapostscripttomyprayer.Don’tletanyonehurt

him.Includingme.

Idon’tfeellikedancing,butIgetoutthepinktoeshoesandtiethemon.IdropontomybedandleanagainstthepillowsandpullGeorgeontomychest,inhalingamouthfulofmustyfur.Hestartskicking,soIlethimgo,andthenhedoessomethinghe’sneverdonebefore—hesitsbesideme,pettingmewithhissharp,dirtylittleclaws.IcrossmyanklessothatIcanseemytoeshoesasI’mstaringatthewall.

Foraminute,thisfeelslikeoldtimes—lyinginbed,lockedawayfromeveryone.IpretendI’minmyoldhouse,acrossthestreetfromDean,Sam,andCastiel,myimaginaryfriendswhowereneveractuallymyfriendsatall.I’mLibbyStrout,America’sFattestTeen,maybetheWorld’sSaddestTeen,

aloneinherroomwithhercatwhileoutsidethatroom,therestoftheworldgoeson.

Thenightiscoolandclearaftertherain.IinchmywaytotheedgeoftheroofuntilI’mstandingwhereIwasstandingbefore,twelveyearsago,andIlookoutovertheneighborhoodandthehousethatusedtobelongtoLibbyStrout.MaybeifIfellagain,itwouldjarsomethingbackintoplaceinmybrain.I

mightseetheworldandthepeopleinitinwaysIdon’tnow.ImightconjureupafacefrommymemoryorbeabletothinkMom,andinstantlyassociatethewordwithawhole,added-upimageofeyes,nose,mouth,thewayeveryoneelsedoes.Istandthereforalongtime,tryingtofigureoutawaytojumpandbangmy

headinthesameexactspotIhititbefore.MaybeIshouldtakearockandhitmyselfwithitinstead.ButwhatifIdomoredamage?WhatifIgetcompleteandtotalamnesia?IsitdownandthenIliedown,andtheroofisdampfromtherain.Iletthe

watersoakthroughmyshirtasIgazeattheskyandallthestarsthatlookjustlikealltheotherstars,anditmightaswellbeaskyfulloffaces.Itellmyself,Libbyisoneofthosestars.IchooseoneandnameitafterherandkeepmyeyesonitaslongasIcan.AndthenIblink.Stay.Stay.Stay.Don’tgoaway.Butshe’sgone.

Thephonerings,andit’sJack,theonlypersonIwanttotalkto.Something’swrong.Icanhearitinhisvoice.Atfirst,Ican’tunderstandwhathe’ssaying.“I’msorry,”hesays.Hekeepsrepeatingit,untilItellhimtostop.“Whyareyousorry?What’sgoingon?”“Ican’tdothis.IthoughtIcould.Iwantedto.ButIcan’t.It’snotfairtoyou.”“What’snot—”“Youdeservetobeseen,andI’llneverbeabletoseeyou,notreally.What

happensifyouloseweight?You’dneedtostaylargeforever,andthat’syouridentifier,butyou’resomuchmorethanweight.”“Whatareyousayingtome,Jack?”EventhoughIknow,andmystomachknows,andmybonesknow,and,most

ofall,myheartknows.Allofmeissinkinglikeastone.Hesays,“Ican’tbewithyou,Libby.Wecan’tdothis.I’msorry.”Andthenhehangsup.Justlikethat.AndIsinkthroughthefloorandintotheyardandfromthereintothedark,

deepcoreoftheearth.

IthinkofBeatriceinhergarden,andhowshediedforlove.AndthenforsomereasonIthinkofanotherstorymymomusedtoreadme,“TheTwelveDancingPrincesses.”Iwalktomybookshelfandsearchforit.IflipthroughuntilIfindit—Libbyinpurplecrayon.Iwroteitverysmall,ontheskirtofthe

youngestprincess,Elise.Shewasmyfavorite,notjustbecauseshewinstheprince,butbecauseshehastheloveliestheart.SheiswhoIwantedtobe.IlookatElise’sperfecthairandfaceandfigure.Ofcoursepeopleloveto

watchherdance.Ofcourseshemarriestheprince.IwonderwhatwouldhavehappenedifElisehadlookedlikeme.

BeforeIgotosleep,IwriteLibbythislongapologytext,butIendupdeletingitbecausewhat’sthepoint?Itwon’tchangethefactthattherewillalwaysbethispartofmethat’ssearchingforher,evenifshe’srightthere.

THEWEEKAFTER

EventhoughIdon’texpecttomaketheteam,IstillgoaroundtoHeatherAlpern’sofficetoseeifshe’spostedthenameofthenewestDamsel.Andthere’sthepaperonherdoor.Andthere’sthesinglenamelistedonthat

paper:JesselleVillegas.Itellmyself,Youshouldn’tbesurprised.Youshouldn’tbedisappointed.WhatdidyouthinkwouldhappenwhenyoutalkedbacktoCaroline?ButIamsurprised.Iamdisappointed.Itellmyself,Youdidn’treallywanttomaketheDamselsanyway.Notlike

that.NothavingtodanceinformationandcarryflagsandtakeordersfromCarolineLushamp.Butmyheartfeelslikeadeflatedballoon.

BaileyandTravisandIwaitoutsideforMr.Domingueztopullthecararound.Travis’seyesareclosed,andhelookslikehe’ssleepingstandingup.Baileysays,“IheardaboutJesselle.”“It’sokay.I’mokay.”JusttodrivethepointhomeofhowCOMPLETELY

OKAYIam,Iwavemyhandattheair,socarefree,likeI’msmackingawayamosquito.Shesays,“It’sthathorribleCaroline.”“Thiswilljustfreemeuptopursueotherthings.”Likedancingbymyselfin

myroomandcreatingvoodoodollswithCarolineLushamp’sface.AsIfishthroughmybackpackforalipgloss,Baileyislistingalltheother

non-dancing,non-voodoo-doll-makingactivitiesIcouldstartdoing.Myhandclosesaroundsomething.Anenvelope.Iyankitoutandturnawaytoreadit,eventhoughIcanguesswhatitsays.

Youaren’twanted.(Itoldyouso.)

Ilookup,expectingCarolinetobetherewatchingme.Instead,Baileyisreadingovermyshoulder.“Who’sthatfrom?”“Noone.”Ishovetheletterbackintomybackpack.Itoldyouso.DoesshemeanSeethere?Jackdoesn’tloveyou.OrdoesshemeanWhydid

youeverthinkYOUcouldauditionfortheDamsels?“Libbs,whowrotethat?”“Don’tworryaboutit.”“But—”“Please,Bailey.I’mfine.”“Iguessyou’refineaboutJacktoo,then.”“Idon’twanttotalkaboutJack.”Hermouthsnapsshut.Thenshesays,“Youcan’talwaysbefine.Noone’s

alwaysfine.AndIknowyou’reusedtobeingonyourown,andIknowIshouldhavebeenabetterfriendsothatyoudidn’thavetogetusedtobeingonyourown,butI’mherenow,andIwishyou’dtalktome.”

Inthecar,IaskMr.Dominguezto,forGod’ssake,playsomemusic,onlyIdon’tactuallymentionGodbecausethiswillonlysetBaileyoffandIalreadyfeelbadenoughforbarkingather.ThefirstsongMr.Dominguezchoosesis,ofcourse,ancient1970srock.“LoveHurts,”andifyoudon’tknowit,DON’TEVERLISTENTOIT,ESPECIALLYIFYOURHEARTISBROKEN.ImmediatelyIgetthislumpinmythroat,thekindthatmakesitimpossibletoswalloworevenbreathe.Oneminuteintothesong,tearsarerollingdownmyface,butMr.

Dominguezdoesn’tbataneye.

IseeJackinthemainhallwayofschool.He’sflankedbySethPowellandDaveKaminski,wholooksrightatme,almostthroughme,whileJacksaunterspastlikeI’minvisible.AndmaybeIam.Likeeveryoneelseinhislife.Justonemorepersonhecan’tsee.

ConversationCircleiscanceledtodaybecauseMr.Levinehassomesortofstaffmeeting,andhonestlyI’mglad.Idon’twanttofaceLibbybecauseI’mamiserablecoward,andthisiswhatmiserablecowardsdo—weavoidfacingthings.IwalkoutofschoolwithKam,who’sgoing,“Whatareyouuptotonight?IhearKendra’shavingsomepeopleover.”Icanpicturetonightlikeit’salreadyhappened—Kendra’senormoushouse,

filledwithyappingdogsnohigherthanyourankle,Carolineandtherestofthembitchingaboutonethingandanother,everyonedrinkingtillthey’restupid(er).“Man,I’mstillgrounded.”NotthatIwouldgoifIcould.HestartstellingmeastoryaboutSeth,butI’monlyhalflisteningbecausea

carcomespullingupandIwatchasthisgirlwhocanonlybeLibbyclimbsin.Thecarrollsaway,andI’mthinking,Lookup,lookup.Butshedoesn’tevenglanceinmydirection.

IfindMom-with-Hair-Downinthekitchen,standinginfrontofthewindow,drinkingoneofDusty’sjuiceboxes.Shelooksdistractedandfaraway.IwalkincoughingsoIcangiveherfairwarning.Shesmiles,butitlandssomewhereovermyleftshoulder.“What’sup?”“Justthirsty.”Igrabajuiceboxandleanagainstthecounter.“Doyou

rememberwhenIwasplayingLittleLeague?”“Sure.”“YouwouldtellmewhoalloftheplayerswerebeforepracticebecauseI

couldneverkeepthemstraight.”

“Youwerealwaysgettingthemmixedup.”“Itwasprettycoolofyoutodothat.”“That’swhatwedo.”Shesaysitsomatter-of-factlythatIlovehermorefor

it.Shesmilesintothedistance,intothepast,andlaughs.“Youwerefullofswagger,eventhen.I’mnotsurewherethatcamefrom.Youdidn’tgetitfromus.”“Itotallygotitfromyou.”Shesmiles.Sighs.“Sowhat’sreallyup?”“AreyouandDadgettingdivorced?”“What?Whywouldyousaythat?”Thisismystrong,no-bullshitmother,butthere’ssomethingscaredhidden

deepinhervoice,likeImayknowsomethingshedoesn’t.It’slikeaknifethroughthegut,andIwishI’dneverheardit,becausethere’snowayI’mgoingtoforgetthesoundofit,notifIlivetobeahundred.“Youguysjustdon’tseemlikeyoulately.”“Thingshavebeenalittlestrained.”Sheiswary.It’sinherfaceandinher

voice.It’sinthewayshecrossesherarmsoverherchest.“Butyou’rethechildandI’mtheparent,nomatterhowtallyougetorhowlargeyougrowthatAfro,whichmeansIdon’twantyoutoworry.”Hersmileisthepunctuation,thethingthattellsmewe’redonehere.There’s

somethinginitsprotectivenessthatbringsonthiswaveofdéjàvu,andsuddenlyI’msixyearsoldandlyinginthehospital.Mymomisholdingmyhand.She’stalkingtomydad,andthey’rehappyandrelievedbecauseI’mgoingtobeokayandhedoesn’thavecanceryetandhehasn’tevenmetMonicaChapman.Momglancesatmeandthenbackatmydad,andherfaceseemsdifferenteverytime.Isthiswhenitstarted?Buthersmileisthesame.Andnow,standinginourkitchen,I’mthinkingaboutDr.OliverSacks,who

believedthattherecognitionoffacesdoesn’tdependsolelyonthefusiformgyrustwelve,butontheabilitytosummonupthememories,experiences,andfeelingsassociatedwiththem.Basically,beingabletoidentifythefaceofsomeoneyouknowcomeswithalotofmeaning.Italsogivesthemmeaning—thepeopleyouknowandlove.Mymomalreadymeansalottome—she’smymom,afterall—butwouldshe

meanevenmoreifIcouldidentifyherface?Isaytoher,“Justpromisemeyouwon’tbeoneofthosecouplesthatstays

togetherforthechildren.Thatonlyscrewspeopleup,includingthechildren.”Itossthejuicebox.Takeabreath.SaythethingIprobablyshouldn’t.“Youdeservebetter.”

Thefirstattemptsatfacialrecognitiontechnologyweremadeinthe1960s.Everyfacehasdistinctlandmarks—abouteightyofthem—andthetechnologyworksbymeasuringthese.Widthofthenose,distancebetweentheeyes,lengthofthejaw.Allthesethingsareaddedtogethertocreateasortoffaceprint.Okay,sothatparticularkindoftechnologyisbeyondme,butwhatIcando

isthis:Istayupforhoursconnectingthewiresthatmakeuptherobot’sbrain.Thisisadelicatejob,likesurgery.Youcanhavethegrandestdesigninthewholefuckingworld,butthethingeverysinglebookorvideoorwebsitewilltellyouisthatyouneedacompletecircuit,perfectlywired,inorderforthemotorstowork.Ifasinglewireisdisconnected,themotorswon’tspinandyourrobotwon’tfunction.Ican’tdoanythingaboutmyownbrain,butIcanmakesuretheredwire

goeshere,theblackwiregoesthere,mustgetthewiringright,mustmakethemotorspin.I’mgoingtofillthisrobot’smindwithfullyworkingfusiformgyrustwelves.Hewon’tjusthaveone;he’llhaveahundred.

Beforedinner,ItellmydadI’mgoingovertoourneighborhoodWalgreenstobuysome“girlthings.”Tenminuteslater,I’mwalkingupanddowntheaisles,fluorescentlightsblindingme,fillingabasketwithjunkfood.EverythingIusedtoeat—cookies,chips,soda.Peoplearestaringatme,andIknowhowIlook:thefatgirlgettingreadytobinge.Idon’tcare.Isuddenlywanteverything.There’snotenoughfoodontheseshelves,notevenwithHalloweenaroundthecorner.I’mgrabbingbagsofcandy,andthebasketisfull,soImarchtothefrontofthestoreandfindacart,andIthrowthebasketinthereandgobackupanddownthesameaisles,fillingitwithallthefoodImissed.I’mstandingbythecereal,reachingforaboxofHoneyNutCheerios,when

Ifeelmychestclenchingbutnotunclenching.Itclenchestighterandtighter,likesomeonehaswrappedacorsetaroundit.Mypalmsarewet.Myheadiscompressing,growingandshrinkingatthesametime.Icanhearmybreathing,andit’ssoamplifiedthat,tomyownears,IsoundlikeDarthVader.Awomanattheendoftheaisleisfrozenasshewatchesme.Shelooksscared.Aboycomesover,wearingaWalgreensuniform,andhe’smaybesixteenyearsold.Hegoes,“Areyouokay?Miss?”Mybreathingisgettinglouder,andIcovermyearstoblockitout.And

that’swhentheceilingstartstospinandtheairdisappearsandmylungsstopworkingandIcan’tbreatheatall.IdropeverythingandrunawayfromthecartandallthatfooduntilI’moutthedoor.Istandintheparkinglot,bentoveratthewaist,breathinginthefreshnightair,andthenIlieflatontheground,asifthiswillopenmylungswiderandmakethemworkagain,onlythebreathwon’tcome.AndthenIclosemyeyes,andeverythinggoesblack.

Thisisthewayithappenedthreeyearsago.Mylungsstoppedworking,andalltheaireverywhere,inmyhouse,intheworld,disappeared,leavingmeonmyback,unabletotalkormove.Therewasonlypanic.Iopenmyeyes,andinsteadofthedingymetalceilingofatruck,Iseethe

sky.Getup,Libby.Ipushmyselftosittingandwaitastheworldrightsitself.Ilookaround

slowlysothatthingsdon’ttiltorspin.InsideWalgreens,Icanseethesixteen-year-oldboywithaphonetohisearandsomeoneonhiswayoutthedoortohelpthegirllyingintheparkinglot.Onyourfeet.Ipullmyselftostanding,andasIdo,thisfeelingcomesoverme.It’sthis

kindofquiet,peacefulfeeling,andthat’sher,that’smymom.Iwantittolast,tokeepherwithme.Livelivelivelive…AndthenIbreathe.Ibreathe.

Athome,Istandinfrontofmymirror,wearingthebrightpurplebikiniIboughtmyselfwhenIfirstlosttheweight.ThetagsarestillattachedbecauseI’veneveractuallywornit,butnowIripthemoffandletthemfallontothecarpet.Ilookatmyself.Intheglass,Georgewatchesmewiththesameexpressionhealwayswears,

andIthink,Ifonlypeopleweremorelikehim.HelooksatmethewayhedoeswhenI’mfullyclothed,withmakeuporwithout,laughingorcrying.Heisunwavering,whichmaybethethingIlovemostabouthim.Stillinmybikini,Isitdownonmybedandopenmylaptop.Istareatthe

screenforapproximatelytenseconds,andthenthewordsjustpourrightoutofme.

THENEXTDAY

It’sthefirstdayofswimming,whichmeansfortheentirehourofgymclassI’llbefulfillingoneofmyworstnightmares:paradingaroundinfrontofmyclassmates,wearingtheworld’ssmallest,mostunflatteringpieceofclothing.I’minthelockerroomwiththirtyothergirls,andthisisexactlyhowthe

nightmarealwaysbegins.Everyonewhoisn’tCarolineLushamporBaileyBishopstaresintotheirlockers,asifthiswillsomehowhidethemfromsight.EvenKendraWuischeatingbysittingdownonthebench,talkingamileaminutelikeshe’sthemostconfidentthingintheworld,whenshe’sdrapingatowelaroundherlap.Shetiesthisaroundherasshestands,andIknowthismovebecauseI’vedoneitahundredtimes.IwanttoshoutWestillseeyou,Kendra!Youcan’thidefromtheeyesofyour

peers!Butwhocares?Youlookgreat!Wealllookgreat!Ourbodiesarewondrous,miraculousthings,andweshouldn’teverfeelashamedofthem!BaileyistalkingtomeaboutalifeguardnamedBrandonSomething,who

washerfirstreal-lifecrush(nottobeconfusedwithherfirstcrushofall,Winnie-the-Pooh’sChristopherRobin).Sheleansagainstthelockerandwavesherhands,likeshealwaysdoeswhenshetalks,andofcourseshelookslikeshejuststeppedoffthepagesofSeventeen,evenintheugly,shapelessblobthatisourregulationblackone-piece.I’mtheheaviestgirlherebyamile,andeveryonekeepsglancingatmeto

seewhenI’mgoingtotakeitalloff,probablybecauseitwillmakethemfeelbetterabouttheirownbodies.ImoveasifI’minslowmotion,determinedtorunoutthebell.Inudgeoffoneshoeandthentheotherandplacethem—oneandthentheother—neatly,gingerlyinmylocker,asifthey’remadeofthe

finestglass.Iremovemybraceletandtakethegreatest,tenderestcaretotuckitintomybagwhereitwillbesafe.Idoeverythingbutwriteitapoem,thatishowlongI’mtakingtoensureitscomfort.Ireachintomypocketandpulloutahairtieandthen,asifwehavehourstogetready,Ipullmyhairbackandsmoothitintoplace,everylaststrand,justlikeI’masquadcaptainfortheDamsels.Carolinewalksbyandsaysinmydirection,“Youcan’tdelaytheinevitable.”

ButevenMissHighandMightycan’tgettometoday.Finally,it’sjustBaileyandmeandagirlnamedMargaretHarrison,whois

chatteringintoherphone.Ourteacher,Ms.Reilly,comeswhiskingthroughand,withbarelyaglanceatanyofus,goes,“Margaret,phone!Bailey,pool!Libby,swimsuit!”Shewouldbeanamazingdrillsergeant.Baileywaves.“Seeyououtthere,Libbs!”Andgoesboundingoff,hair

swinging,longlegshigh-stepping.ItisawonderIlikeher.Nowit’sjustMargaretandme.She’sstillblabbingaway,butIreallyneed

hertodisappear,soIstartsingingtomyself.Loudly.Irearrangemyshoes.Icheckonmybracelet.Shecontinuesblabbing,butnowshe’swatchingme.Wecouldbeherefordays.Finally,I’mlike,Screwit.Ipulloffmytop.Hangitupinthelocker.Pulloff

myjeans.Hangthemontheotherhook.Igrabmytowel,slamthelockerdoorclosed.Ithrowthetowelovermyshoulder.ImeetMargaret’seyes,andtheyarewide.Thephoneisstilltoherear,butshehasfinally,finallystoppedtalking.Iputonehandonmyhip,theotherbehindmyhead.Idoalittlepose,andherfacebreaksintoasmile.Shesaysintothephone,“Yeah,I’mstillhere.”Andgivesmeathumbs-up.

IstrollintotheMVBAquaticCenter.Everyonestops.Just.Stops.Fromacrossthepool,Ms.Reillyshouts,“Whatisthatsupposedtobe,

Strout?”Ihollerback,“Apurplebikini.”AndthenIstrikethesamepose,onehandonmyhip,onehandbehindmy

head.Ms.Reillyispaddingtowardme,herfeetgoingslapslapslaponthewet

cement.“Whatisthatonyourstomach?”Andshemustbenearsighted,becauseIwroteitingiantlettersacrossthe

widestswathofskinIown.

“‘Iamwanted,’”Isay.“Butdon’tworryaboutitwashingoffinthewater.Iusedapermanentmarker.”AndthenIwalkovertothedeepend,dropmytowel,andexecuteanOlympic-worthydivethatwouldimpresseventhemostunimpressiblejudge.Mymomlearnedtoswimtheyearsheturnedforty,theyearbeforeshedied.

SheandItooklessonsatthemunicipalpoolnearthepark,andtogetherwelearnedtotreadwater,breathe,dothebackfloat,dothebreaststroke,dive.Tome,swimmingwasasnaturalaswalkingorsleeping.Ifeltathomeinthewater.Mymomwasmorenervous,somethingsheblamedonherage.“Youjustneedtotrustthepowerofthewater,”Itoldher.“Ourbodiesaredesignedtofloat,nomatterwhat.Thewaterwillholdyouup.”Ihaven’tdonemuchswimmingintheyearssince.Butit’samazinghow

somethinglikethatcomesbacktoyou.AsIcutthroughthewaternow,IforgetwhereIam.It’smeandthewater.Andmymom,justoutofreach.Iclosemyeyes,andIcanseeherinthelanenexttomine.Icomeupforairandopenmyeyes,andI’mbackinthehighschoolswim

center,surroundedbygawking,laughinggirls.Thisjarsmeforasecond,butonlyasecond.Itismyjobinlife,apparently,toteachgawking,laughinggirlslessonsaboutkindness.IfyouhadtoldmewhenIwassevenoreightthatthiswassomethingI’dbetakingon,thatIwouldnevergetabreakfromitnomatterhowgoodIfeltaboutmyself,IwouldhavesaidThankyou,butifit’sallthesameI’lltakeanotherjob,please.Whatelsedoyouhaveforme?Iknowwhatyou’rethinking—ifyouhateitsomuchandit’ssuchaburden,

justlosetheweight,andthenthatjobwillgoaway.ButI’mcomfortablewhereIam.Imaylosemoreweight.Imaynot.ButwhyshouldwhatIweighaffectotherpeople?Imean,unlessI’msittingonthem,whocares?Ifindtheladderandclimbout.Ibrushthehairoffmyfaceandcheckmy

stomach.Thewritingisstillthere.Ipickupmytowelandwalkpastthemallintothelockerroom,whereIdry

offandpullonmyshoes,whichIchoseespeciallyfortoday.Ononeside,I’vedecoratedthemwiththislinefromASeparatePeace:Everyonehasamomentinhistorywhichbelongsparticularlytohim.Thisismine.

Imakemywaythroughthecrowd,pretendingtobeonmyphone.I’mplanningtoavoidthemainhall,eventhoughitwillmeangoingupstairsandaroundanddownagaintogettomynextclass.ThecloseststairsareinwhatwecalltheFourCorners,whichiswherethemainhallbranchesoffinfourdifferentdirections,andifI’mwilyenough,Icanduckupthesetothesecondfloor.Otherwise,I’llhavetotrekallthewaytothefronthallandtakethestairsthere.Idon’twanttorunintoanyone.Ihearmyname,butIconcentrateonthebackofeveryheadinfrontofme.

Thehallisjammedwithpeople,andwe’rebarelymoving.Someoneisshoutingmynameoverandover,andthenthistallgirlwithdarkskinandapainted-onbeautymarkbyhereyeyanksatmyarmandgoes,“Didn’tyouhearme?”“Caroline?”“Isaidyourgirlfriend’supthere.She’sthereasonwecan’tgetthrough.”

Istandinthemiddleofthemainhallway.TheonlythingI’mwearingotherthanmyshoesismybikini.Mysuitandhairarestilldamp,andI’mshiveringalittlebutI’mtellingmyself,Thisisyourmomentinhistory.Thisbelongstoyou.Five.Four.Three…Irisappears,outofbreath.Isay,“Didyoubringthem?”“Righthere.”Sheholdsupastackofpapers.“Youmaywanttogetoutofhere.”Sheshakesherhead.“I’mstaying.”ThebellringsandIjump.There’sstilltime.IcouldrunliketheFlashand

maybeonlybeseenbyacoupleofpeople.ButIkeepstandingthere.Asdoorsarebeingthrownopen.AstheentirestudentpopulationofMVB

HighSchoolstartsfloodingthehall.Aseveryoneisstaring.Asphonesareheldup.As—I’msureofit—fourhundredpicturesarebeingtaken.Asmychestisclenching.Asmyheadfeelsasifit’sbeingfilledwithcotton.Asmybreathinggrowsraggedyanduneven.Asmypalmsgoclammy.Istandthere.

Itrytopushmywaythrough,butasI’mgettingclosertothemainhall,thingsslowdownevenmore,andsoonI’mtrappedinacrowd,shufflingalong,pressedintothegirlinfrontofmeandtheguybehindmeandthegirltomyleftandtheguytomyright.Carolineissomewherenearby,butI’velosther.

IrisandIarehandingoutsheetsofpaper,oneforeverybody,andtheyaregoingfast.Myclassmatesaresnatchingthemupandwalkingoff,readingthemwhileothersaimtheirphonesatmeandtakepictures.ItrytoposeforasmanyasIcan,becauseifI’mgoingoutontheInternet,dammit,Iwanttogivethemthebestpossibleme.SethPowellandhisgiantMohawkappearinfrontofme,andJackMasselin

isjustbehindhim.Sethgoes,“What’sthisallabout?Isitspiritday?”Helaughssohardheshakes.Jackisnotlaughing.Hesays,“Whatareyoudoing?”“I’mremindingpeopleofsomebasictruths.”MosesHuntandhiscrewloomforward,andIgivethemacopytoshare,

eventhoughtheyprobablycan’tread.IsaytoMoses,“Ihopeyoulearnsomething,althoughIdoubtyouwill.”Hereachesformelikehe’sgoingtohugme,andJackgoes,“Hey!”“Fuckyou,Masshole.What’syourproblem?”Sethgoes,“Hisproblemisthat’shisgirlfriend.”Andlaughs/shakeslikesa

tambourine.IsaytoJack,“Thanksanyway,butIdon’tneedyoutoprotectme.”Andhesays,“Youneedtoputsomeclotheson.”

Behindherdesk,PrincipalWassermanshakesherhead.“I’mataloss,Libby.Helpmeunderstandthis.”SheholdsupacopyofthethingIwrote.MyTreatisefortheWorld.“Someone’sbeenharassingyou?Sendingyouletters?Whydidn’tyoucometome?”

“Idon’tknowwhosentthem,andevenifIdid,Iwouldn’tratthemout,nomatterhowawfultheyare.ButIfeltlikeIneededtosaysomething.”I’mdressednow,butI’mstillshivering.Foronething,myhairisdamp.Foranother,I’mpissed.Withasinglecomment,JackMasselinhastakenawaysomeofthegloryofmymoment:Youneedtoputsomeclotheson.PrincipalWassermanreadsmytreatiseagainandthensetsitdowninfront

ofher.Shefoldsherhandsontopofitandlooksatme,andIcanseetheangerinhereyes,butIknowit’snotdirectedatme.“I’msorry,”shesays.“Truly.”Myeyesaresuddenlystinging,whichtakesmebysurprise.Istareatmy

hands,willingmyselfnottocry.Noneedtocry.Yourockedit.Youmadeyourpoint.Maybeyouevenhelpedsomeoneelsetodaywhoneededtohearwhatyouhadtosay.“We’redonehere.”Ilookup.“Really?”“Justletthisbethelasttimeyoutakemattersintoyourownhands,andlet

thisbethelasttimeIseeyouinhere.Unlessyougetmoreletters.Inthatcase,Iwantyoutocomeheredirectly,withouttryingtoaddressitonyourown.Andifyoudofindoutwho’ssendingthem,Iwanttoknowthattoo.”

YOUAREWANTEDbyLibbyStrout

“Youaren’twanted.”Someonewrotethistomerecentlyinananonymousletter.Iwonderwhooutthere

feelslikethisisanokaythingtosaytoanotherperson.Imeanreally.Thinkaboutit.“Youaren’twanted.”It’sprettymuchthemostdespicablethingyoucouldtellsomebody.Whattheyprobablymeantosayis“Youarefat,andthisdisgustsme.”Sowhynot

saythat?Youdon’tknowifI’mwantedornot.Butguesswhat?Iam.Believeitornot,IactuallyhaveafamilywholovesmeandIalsohavefriends.I’ve

evenmadeoutwithboys.ThereasonIhaven’thadsexisbecauseI’mnotreadyyet.Notbecausenoonewantsme.Thethingis,ashatefulandsmallasyouare,PersonWhoWroteThatLetter,I’mprettydamndelightful.I’vegotagoodpersonalityandagreatbrainandI’mstrongandIcanrun.I’mresilient.I’mmighty.I’mgoingtodosomethingwithmylifebecauseIbelieveinmyself.Imaynotknowwhatthatsomethingisyet,butthat’sonlybecauseIamlimitless.Canyousaythesame?Lifeistooshorttojudgeothers.Itisnotourjobtotellsomeonewhattheyfeelor

whotheyare.Whynotspendsometimeonyourselfinstead?Idon’tknowyou,butIcanguaranteeyouhavesomeissuesyoucanworkon.Andmaybeyou’vegotafitbodyandaperfectface,butI’llwageryou’vegotinsecuritiestoo,onesthatwouldkeepyoufromstrippingdowntoapurplebikiniandmodelingitinfrontofeveryone.Asfortherestofyou,rememberthis:YOUAREWANTED.Big,small,tall,short,

pretty,plain,friendly,shy.Don’tletanyonetellyouotherwise,notevenyourself.Especiallynotyourself.

IstandonthemainfloorofMasselin’s,wishingbaseballseasonlastedyear-round,thatIdidn’thavetowaittillspring,andthatwewereallrequiredtoplay.IfI’mdesigningtheworld,everypersoninitiswearingauniform,andthisishowwefindeachother.Ifthiswashowtheworldworked,IwouldrecognizeMonicaChapman,also

standingonthemainfloorofMasselin’s.Iwouldknowinstantlythatthewomanmydadistalkingtoisher.Iwouldn’thavetowonderifshe’sbeenthereothertimesbeforetoday,rightinfrontofmyeyes.Instead,Iinterruptthetwoofthem,standingtooclosenearaStarWars

display,whereanyone,includingmymom,couldwalkinandseethem.Theybreakapart,andthenIreadmydad’snametag,andtheguiltylookonhisface.Shesays,“Hi,Jack.”Maybeit’sher,maybeitisn’t,butIdon’twaittofindout.Ilookatmydad.I

say,“Yousonofabitch.”Andwalkout.

Athome,Iswipeeverythingoffthebasementshelvesandontothefloor.Ithrowstuffintothetrash.Igowild,likeakidhavingatantrum,crushingpartsundermyshoes,slammingthingsagainsttheplywoodtable,breakingtoolsandallthisshitI’vespentsomuchtimedesigningandbuilding.Igowilder,finallyhittingawalluntilmyhandisbleeding.Thepainofit

feelsgood,andIlikethatcontactoffistandbone.Ihititagainandagain.It’sawaytofeelsomethingwithoutstandingbehindthisinvisibleelectricfencethatdividesmefromeveryoneelse.

Halfanhourlater,I’mcleaningupthemess,allcoolandcollected,whenamanskulksinwearingmydad’snametag.Hetakesinthechaosaroundusandthenlooksmeintheeye.“I’mendingit.

Withher.”“Noneofmybusiness,man.”“Ijustwantedtotellyou.”“Whynow?Whatmadeyoucometothislife-alteringdecision?”“That,”hesays,noddingatme.“Thatangerrightthere.I’dratheryoudidn’t

hateme.”“Don’tputthisonme.”“It’snotonyou.It’sonme.Iwasgiventhissecondchance,notjustbeating

cancer,butasecondchancewithyourmomandasecondchancetofigureoutwhatIwanttodoinlife.”“Ithoughtyoulovedthestore.”“Ilovewhatitmeans,andIlovethehistory.Ilovedgoingthereasakid.But

thatdoesn’tmeanit’sthethingIwantedtodowithmylife.Ihadplans.”Thisthrowsmebecauseit’sthefirsttimeI’veeverthoughtaboutmydad

doinganythingelseorhavingotheroptions.“Iwantedtobeanarchitect.Oranengineer.”Andthisthrowsmeagainbecausemaybewe’remorealikethanIthought,

andI’mnotsurehowIfeelaboutthis.TheonlythingIdoknow,thankstoyouandMonicaChapman,isthekindofpersonIdon’twanttobe.“It’sfunny,right?Thateventhoughwe’rebasicallyaloneinhere”—he

thumpshischest—“it’seasytolosetrackofyourself.”IwanttosayIknow.Igetit.It’seasytogiveeveryonewhattheywant.What’s

expected.Theproblemwithdoingthisisyoulosesightofwhereyoutrulybeginandwherethefakeyou,theonewhotriestobeeverythingtoeveryone,ends.Hesmilesthissadsmile.“I’vebeenshitty.”“SoIguessDustygottoyoutoo.”“Iguessso.”

Marcusandhisgirlfriend,Melinda,areinourfamilyroom,hunchedoverhisphone,whisperingtheirheadsoff.Marcuslooksupandsaystome,“Haveyouseenthis?”Heholdsoutthephone.Igoover,takethephonefromhim,andthereisLibbyStrout,wearing

nothingbutherelectric-purplebikini,basicallytellingtheworldtofuckoff.Iwasthere.I’vealreadyseenit.ButnowI’mlookingatthewaythelightcatchesherhairandatthehandfuloffrecklesthatdotacrossherarmsandchest,likebeautymarksthataren’tpaintedon.

ThenImakethemistakeofreadingthecomments.Someofthemarenasty.Butsomeofthemarereallynice.Idon’ttakeacount,butI’mrelievedtoseetheniceonesseemtooutnumberthenastyones.Igivethephonebacktomybrother,andhebarelynoticesbecauseheandMelindahavestartedarguing.Shegoes,“I’mserious.It’snotfunny,Cuss.”Thisiswhatshecallshim.“I

feelsorryforher.”Isay,“Whydoyoufeelsorryforher,Da?”AsinDuh.ThisiswhatIliketo

callher.Sheblinksherbig,dumbeyesatme.“Imean,itcan’tbeeasybeingher.”“Why?”Ishouldn’tmesswithher,thewayIdowithSeth,butIcan’thelpit.“Well.Imean.Youknow.”Sheholdsupthephoneandpointsatthescreen.“Sheseemslikeshe’sdoingallrighttome.”Libby’s“YouAreWanted”paperisupstairsonmydesk.EversinceIreadit,

I’vebeentryingtoignorethevoicethat’ssayingThisisyourfault.Ifyouhadn’tgrabbedher,shewouldn’tbeatarget,andifshewasn’tatarget,shewouldn’thavefeltlikeshehadtoproveherselftotheentireschool.

MartinVanBurenHighisactuallyreallybeautiful,whichisweirdwhenyoustoptothinkofhowmanypeopleoverthepastninety-someyearsofitslifetimehavespentsomuchtimedreadingbeinghere.Wehaveareal,honest-to-Godartgalleryinourschool,ourgymseatstenthousandpeople,andCivicAuditorium,attachedtotheathleticcenter,isthetown’svenueforconcertsandshows.There’sasaladbarandapizzabarandasandwichbarinthecafeteria,andthere’sevenasmallconveniencestorebythenurse’soffice.ButitmightaswellbePetakIslandPrison,inthemiddleofalakeinthedeepest,mostremotepartofRussia,whereprisonersspendtwenty-twohoursadayintheircellsandonlygetvisitorstwiceayear.Thisiswhatitcanfeelliketobehere.Todayisnoexception.Everyone—andImeaneveryone—knowsmyname

now,andallofthemcanpicturemeinabathingsuit.Eventhepeoplewhoweren’tactuallythere.TheYouTubevideoiscalledFatGirlFightsBack:LibbyStrout,formerlyAmerica’sFattestTeen,tellsclassmates“YouAreWanted.”Itwaspostedlastnightandalreadyhas262,356views.Imagineit.Icantellyoufromexperiencethatitisreallyweirdandreallyunsettling.

ThatguyovertherewiththeGameofThronesnotebook.Thatgirlandherfriendswiththeirbandinstruments.Thecheerleaders.Thebasketballteam.Andohright,theteachers.Ididnotthinkthisthrough.Itmaybemyimagination,buteverypairofeyeslandsonmeasIwalk

throughthehalls.Iwalkandbreathe,walkandbreathe.Istarttostrutalittle.Itryaddinginasashay.IrememberhowitfeltdancinginmyroomtotheSpice

Girls,andItellmyself,Thatiswhoyoureallyare.Somekindofsuperstar,justlikeinthesong.Ionlygetonemoo.Everyoneelsejuststares.Inthehallway,Mr.Levinesays,“Everythingokay,Libby?”Whichtellsme,whetherhe’sseenitornot,hemustknowaboutFatGirl

FightsBack.“JustbecauseIseeyouinourConversationCirclesdoesn’tmeanyoucan’t

talktome.ItiskindofwhatIdo,youknow.”“Iknow.Thanks,Mr.Levine.Everything’sgreat.Really.”I’mnotsurehe

believesme,butIhurryoffbeforehecanaskmeanythingelse.

IeatlunchintheartroomwithBailey,Jayvee,andIrisbecauserightnowit’smorepeaceful(i.e.,lesstraumatic)thanthecafeteria.Theystarttalking,astheyalwaysdo,aboutwhatthey’lldobeyondschool,whenMVBisoverandwe’refree.Baileyisplanningtobeanartistandalsoadoctor,andJayveeisgoingtobeawriter.Atsomepoint,Irislooksatmeandsays,“IwishIwaslikethem.IwishI

knewwhatIwasgoingtodo.”“Youcouldbeasinger.IfIhadavoicelikeyours,IrisEngelbrecht,Iwould

singalldayjusttohearmyself.”Herearsturnbrightpink.ShetakesasipofherDietCoke.“That’snota

career,that’sahobby.”She’squotingsomeone,maybehermom.“TellthattoTaylorSwift.”Iscrollthroughmyphone,chooseasong,and

hitPlay.TheyallgoquietasIstartdancing.Isay,“I’mgoingtobeadancer.MaybeI’llevenbeaRockette.”Ikickmyleg.Ikickitashighasthesky.Jayveestartsclappingandwhistling.“I’mstartingmyowndanceclub.I’lltakeeveryonewhocan’tbeaDamsel

oranyonewhodoesn’twanttobeaDamsel.Wewon’tdanceinformationandwewon’tdancewithflags.We’lljustgetoutthereanddowhateverwewant,butwe’lldoittogether.”“Iwanttobeinyourdanceclub!”Baileyisupandshakingit,hairflying.“Metoo.”Jayveeclimbsontoadesk,alljazzhandsandwavingarms.She

tipsanimaginarytophatandsmilesthebiggest,scarieststagesmileanyonehaseverseen.IrissetsdownherDietCoke.Shedabsathermouthwithhernapkin.And

thenshestartstosingalong,drowningouttheSpiceGirlswiththatbig,gorgeousvoiceofhers.Sheshimmiesalittleinherseat,shouldersmovingtotheleft,shouldersmovingtotheright.Igrabapaintbrushandhandittoher,

andlikethat,it’snotapaintbrush,it’samicrophone,andwe’renotinahighschoolartroom;we’reonstage,allofus,together,doingourownthing.UntilMr.Grazer,artteacher,walksinandshouts,“Whatisgoingonin

here?”Baileypipesup.“We’rejustexpressingourart,Mr.G.”“Well,expressitalittlemorequietly,Bailey.”

Aringofchairsisarrangedinthemiddleofthebasketballcourt.Itappearsthatintoday’sConversationCircle—ourverylastone—wewillbesittinginanactualcircle.Ialmostturnaroundandwalkout,butit’sthefinalday,afterall,soImake

myselftakeaseat,sayheytothecollectivegroup,andwaitforMr.Levinetojoinus.Istretchmylegsinfrontofme,crossthemattheankle,tipmyheadback,closemyeyes.EveryonewillthinkI’mhungoverortiredorjustboredoutofmymind,butactuallymyheartisbeatingalittletoofast,alittletooloud.Whateverthiscircleisaboutcan’tbegood.Ilistenaseveryonesettlesin,astheirvoicesriseandfall.IhearLibbysay

somethingasshetakesaseat,andthenIhearthesqueakofsneakersonthescuffed-upfloor,andthisisMr.Levine.Hesays,“You’reprobablywonderingwhy,inthisConversationCircleof

ours,we’resittinginacircle.”Iopenmyeyes,situpalittle,trytolookinterestedandlikethisdoesn’t

scaretheshitoutofme.IglanceoveratLibby.IwanttosayI’msorry.Imissyou.Butshe’swatchingMr.Levine,who’scradlingabasketball.“Todaywe’regoingtotaketurnssayingfivepositivethingsabouteach

personhere.SoifI’mstarting,I’llsayfivegreatthingsabout,let’ssay,Maddy.”HetossestheballtoMaddy.“You’rekind,punctual,polite,getalongwellwithothers,andyou’realotmoreconfidentthanyouwerewhenwefirststartedthisCircle.ThenMaddysaysfivegreatthingsaboutme.”

Maddygoes,“Youwearcoolbowties,youlooklikeDoctorWho,you’reprettychillforateacher,youdon’tlectureustoomuch,andyoukeepitinteresting.”ShethrowstheballbacktoMr.Levine.“Excellent,Maddy,andthankyou.SonextIwouldthrowtheballtoJackor

AndyorNatashaorTravisorLibbyorKeshawn,untilI’vesaidsomethingabouteveryone.We’llgoroundandroundtilleveryonehastakenaturn.Questions?”Keshawngoes,“Like,anything,aslongasit’sgood?”“Let’ssayanythingwithaPG-13rating.”TheyalllaughexceptKeshawn,

wholooksdisappointed.Sonowwe’reallglancingaroundateachother,studyingeachother,no

doubttryingtothinkoffivenicethingstosay.I’mstudyingthemtoo,butinadifferentway.Afterallthistime,IcanpickoutKeshawninthisgroup,andNatashamustbethegirlwithlongbrownhairwithherhandonhisleg—atleastIhopeso,forKeshawn’ssake.IknowLibbybecauseshe’sthelargestofthegirls,andIknowMaddy,thankstoMr.Levine.ButasusualI’mhavingtroublewithAndyandTravis.They’rethesameheight,samebuild,andbothhavescragglyhairthatfallsintheireyes.Youcantellsomepeoplebymannerisms,likethewaytheybrushthehairofftheirface,buttheseguysjustblinkonthroughit.ItellmyselfI’llbeokayaslongasLevinechoosessomeoneelsetogofirst.

SonowItrytothinkofwhattosayaboutthesepeople.KeshawnandNatashawerecaughthavingsexinoneofthebathrooms,whichisbyfarthebestreasonanyofushaveforbeinghere,butIcan’texactlymentionthisasoneofmypositivethings.Maddyishereforstealingmakeupoutofrandomlockers.Andydestroyedschoolproperty(bypissingonit),andTravis,onadare,litupajointduringclass.Soyeah.TheonlypersonIcanthinkofnicethingstosayaboutisLibby.Andinsteadofthinkingoffivegoodthingstosayabouther,Icanthinkofahundred.Levinesays,“Jack,whydon’tyoustartusoff?”Crap.Iflashhimagrin.“Ladiesfirst.Chivalryandallthat.”“WhileI’msuretheladiesappreciatethegesture,I’mbettingtheywon’t

mindinthiscase.”Hesitsbackinhischair,foldshisarmsacrosshischest,andwaits.Forwhateverreason,IlookrightatLibby.Don’tabandonme,LibbyStrout,

notwhenIneedyoumost.Shefrowns,andforaminuteIexpecthertotellmeofforflipmeofformaybejustgetupandwalkout.Butshemustseemypanicbecauseshegoes,“I’msorry,Mr.Levine,butbeforeIforget—Travis,dowe

haveatesttomorrowindriver ’sed?”She’slookingattheguyacrossfromher,theoneintheblacklong-sleevedjersey.“What?Fuck,dowe?”Heblinksatherthroughhishair,hismouthpopped

openinanO,andsuddenlyIfeellikelaughing.“IthoughtDominguezsaid…Ormaybethatwasanotherclass…Ohwait,

wait.I’mthinkingofhistory.”Mr.Levineislookingatherlikeheknowsshe’suptosomething,butallhe

saysis“Goahead,Jack.”Keshawn’sagoodbasketballplayer.Natashaisapositivepersonwho’s

alwayssmiling.Maddyseemsverysmart.Andyhelpedtakeustostatelastyearinfootball.TravishasagreatcollectionofvintageT-shirts.Thatkindofthing.Hereiswhattheysayaboutme:Jack’sgood-looking.Jack’sgotitall

together.Jackdrivesacoolcar.Jacklivesinanicehouse.Jack’sgotagreatsmile.Jack’sgotgreathair.Jack’ssmart.Jack’sfunny.Jack’sagoodbaseballplayer.Jackwillprobablygetintoanycollegeheappliesto.Iknowtheymeanwell,butI’mleftfeelingdeflated.Maybethey’reall

feelinglikethistoo,butIwanttogoYoudon’tknowme.Ifthat’sallyouthinkIam,youdon’thaveaclue.Butwhosefaultisthat?IturntoLibby.“You’rekind.ProbablythekindestpersonIknow.You’re

alsoforgiving,atleastalittle,butI’mhopingalot,andinmybookthat’sasuperpower.”Hereyesareonmine,andthere’salotgoingonthere.“You’resmartashell,andyoudon’ttakepeople’scrap,leastofallmine.Youarewhoyouare.Youknowwhothatis,andyouaren’tafraidofit,andhowmanyofuscansaythat.”She’snotsmiling,butit’snotaboutwhathermouthisdoing.It’sabouthereyes.“You’restrongtoo.It’snotjustamatterofbeingabletoknockdownaguywithasingleshottothejaw.”(Everyonelaughs,excepther.)“I’mtalkingaboutinnerstrength.Like,ifIwoulddrawthatinnerstrengthitmightlookalotlikeatrianglemadeofcarbyne.That’stheworld’sstrongeststructureandtheworld’sstrongestmaterial.Youalsomakethingsbetterforpeoplearoundyou…”I’mabouttogoon,butMr.Levinesays,“That’sactuallymorethanfive.I

wantyoutokeepgoing,butI’dliketogetthrougheveryonetoday.Goodwork,though,Jack.Waytokickthisoff.”Libbyisstilllookingatme,andhereyesareasopenasthesky.Andthenthere’sthismoment.It’salmostlikeIseeher.Notjusttheamber-coloredeyesorthefreckleson

hercheeks,butreallyseeher.“Jack?It’sLibby’sturn.”

Irubthebackofmyneck,wherethehairsareprickling.“Yeah.Sure.”Ithrowtheballtoher.Shestaresattheballforamoment,rollingitaroundinherhands,delicately,

carefully,likeshe’sholdingtheentireworld.Thensheturnsthoseeyesonme,andthey’rehardtoread.Sheopenshermouth,closesit.Opensitagain.Itturnsoutshedoesn’thavefivethingstosayaboutme.Shehasonlyone.“You’reactuallynotabadguy,JackMasselin.ButI’mnotsureyouknowityet.”

IwalkasfastasIcanoutofthegymwithoutactuallybreakingintoarun.ButJackfallsinstepbesideme,Afrobillowingandblowinglikeitcomeswithitsownwindeffects.Hesays,“Thanksforwhatyousaidinthere.”“Itwasnothing.”“Nottome.Bytheway,whatyoudidyesterday?You’remyhero.”“Youtoldmetoputclotheson.”“BecauseMosesHuntwasgettingalittletooclose,andwhoknowswhathe

mighthavedone.Ididn’twantanyonegrabbingyou.”“Oh,theirony.”Andthen,becauseforsomereasonIcan’thelpmyself,Itell

him,“I’veapparentlygoneviral.”“Iknow.Isaw.Listen,somegirlwillseethatvideoandyou’regoingtogive

herthecouragetobuyherownpurplebikini.You’regoingtomakeadifference.Justwatch.Girlseverywhere,ofallsizes,aregoingtowantone.Clothingmanufacturersacrosstheglobewillbeworkingovertimetoproduceenoughpurpleswimsuitstosatisfythedemand.GirlswillstopaskingDothesejeansmakemybuttlookbig?Theywon’tcareifitlooksbigorsmall.They’llwearwhattheywanttowearandfuckingownit.”Hesmiles,andthere’ssomethinginitthatmakesmewanttosmile,butI

don’tbecausethisistheboywhobrokemyheart.Hesays,“Itmaynotlooklikeit,butyou’reactuallysmiling.”

Ican’twaitforChristmas,soIcarryDusty’srobotdownthehalltohisroomandknockonthedoor.Heyells,“Comein.”Ipushopenthedoor,butIdon’tgoinbecausehe’sstillnotreallytalkingto

me.InsteadIsettherobotonthefloorandsenditinside.I’venamedittheShitkicker.It’sasuperhero.TherobotgoeszoomingintoDusty’sroom,whereitsays,“Hello,Dusty.

I’mfightingshittinesseverywhere!TheShitkickerisheretokickyourass!”Dustygoes,“Myass?”Andthenstartslaughing.It’sthebestsoundintheworld.Ipokemyheadintotheroom,andmylittle

brotherisrollingacrosshisbed,andthenhe’supandonhisfeetandexaminingtherobotfromeveryangle.Heseesmeandfrowns.Ihittheremote,andtheShitkickersays,“It’syou

andmeagainsttheworld,Dusty.”Mybrotherstaresattherobotandshakeshishead.“It’salmostlikeit

recognizedme.Howdidyoudothat?”ThetruthistheShitkickercan’trecognizeDustyanymorethanIcan,butI

programmeditsothatDustyistheonlyoneitcallsbyname.TotheShitkicker,everyoneisDusty.“Magic,”Isay.“Sothathecanalwaysfindyou.”Ipushabuttonontheremote,andtheShitkickersays,“Don’tbeshitty!”And

thenIhitanotherbutton,andtherobotiskickingitslegs,onlyit’snotreallykickinganything—it’sdancing.TheJackson5comecrankingoutofaspeakerinoldShitkicker ’schest,andnowDustyisdancingalongwithit.

IhandmybrothertheremoteandthenI’mdancingtoo,andacoupleofminuteslaterDustygoes,“Ishecarryingapurse?!”Andofcourseheis,becausetheShitkickerknowsonlythecoolkidsusethem.AndDusty’showlingoverthis,andnowthethreeofusaredancinginsync,andasgoodasDustyandIare,there’snodoubtaboutit—theShitkickerisdefinitelytheman.

Top2ThingsIMissAboutLibbybyJackMasselin

1. ThewayIfeelwhenI’mwithher.LikeIjustswallowedthesunandit’sshootingoutofeverypore.

2. Everything.

FOURDAYSLATER

I’mdueatKam’shousearoundnine.Carolinewillbethere.Everyonewillbethere.Idon’twanttoseeeveryone—oranyone,actually—butthisisthewayithastobe.I’mJackMasselin,afterall.I’vegotareputationtouphold.Itakeashower,pullonmyclothes,shakeoutmyhair.Igrabthecarkeys,

andI’malmostoutoftherewhenmydad(thickeyebrows,paleskin,Masselin’sshirt)comeschasingafterme.“Hey,Jack,canwetalktoyouaminute?”Ithinkofeveryexcuse—I’vegotadateandI’malreadyrunninglate(true),I

thinkthecar ’sonfire(hopefullynottrue),Idon’twanttotalktoyou(truetruetrue).“Surething,Daddy-o.What’sup?Butmakeitquick.Theladiesdon’tliketobekeptwaiting.”Ialmostadd,Asyouknow.“Thisisserious,buddy.”

Marcus,Dusty,andIsitonthecouchsidebyside.Momisoppositeusontheottomanthat’sthesizeofasmallboat.Sheleansforward,handsonherkneesasifshemightleapupatanyminute.Dadclearshisthroat.“YourmomandIloveeachotherverymuch.Andwe

loveyou.Thethreeofyouareourlife,andwe’dneverdoanythingtohurtyou.”Hegoesonlikethisforawhile,allabouthowmuchhelovesusandhowhe’sluckytohavesuchagreat,supportivefamily,howwewereallthereforhimwhenhewassick,andhecannevertelluswhatthatmeanstohim.Meanwhile,Marcus,Dusty,andIarealllookingatMombecauseshe’sthe

onewhotellsitlikeitis.Butshedoesn’tsayanything.Shedoesn’tevenlookatus.She’sstaringatsomepointjustpastourfather,whoisstilltalking.

Finally,Dustyraiseshishandandgoes,“Areyougettingdivorced?”Dad’sfacecrumples,andIcan’tlook.Nownoone’ssayinganything,and

finally,inthisveryquietvoice,Momsays,“YourfatherandIthinkit’sbesttoseparateforalittlewhile.Weneedtoworkonsomethingsinourmarriage,butthoseissueshavenothingtodowithyou.”Theconversationdoesn’tendthere.Dustyhasquestions,andMarcuswants

toknowwhatthismeansforus,like,wherewillweliveandcanwestillgotocollege?Meanwhile,I’mhereontheoutside—alwaysontheoutside,evenasthe

worldcrumblesaroundme—facepressedtotheglassthatdividesus,lookingin.

We’reonourwaytopickupIris,andJayveeisdrivingbecauseshe’stheonlyonewithalicense.BaileyandIsitinback.Baileysays,“DaveKaminski’shavingaparty.IpromisedI’dstopby,justforaminute.”Jayveecatchesmyeyeinthemirror.“Libbs?It’skindofuptoyou.”Baileysays,“Jackwon’tbethere.”Isay,“Howdoyouknow?”“Hedoesn’treallygotoparties.”WerollupinfrontofIris’shouse,butIrisisnowheretobeseen.Jayvee

shootsheratext,andwesitthere.Whenshestilldoesn’tappear,Jayveeswearsunderherbreath.“I’llbeback.”Sheleavestheenginerunningandgoesmarchingupthewalk.“Libbs?”Baileyispeeringatme,eyebrowsraisedlikebanners,mouthina

half-smile,eyeswideandshining.“Okay.”BecauseImean,whynot?WhatdoIhavetolose?Andthen,becauseIdon’thaveanythingtolose,Isay,“Whydidn’tyoustick

upformewhenIwasbullied?Backinfifthgrade.WhenMosesHuntstartedbanningmefromtheplayground.Whydidn’tyoudosomethingoratleastcometalktome?Istoodthereeveryday,tooterrifiedtosetonefootontheplayground,andyouneveroncecameovertotalktome.”Isayitmatter-of-factly.I’mnotemotional.I’mnotupset.Ijustgenuinely

wanttoknow.Atfirst,I’mnotsureshehearsme.Butthenhereyebrowssinkbackintoplaceandherhalf-smiledisappearsandhereyesgocloudy.

“Idon’tknow,Libbs.IthinkItoldmyselfwewerefriends,butnotbestfriends,andthatyouseemedlikeyouwereokay.You’restilllikethat.Yougetlettersfromsomehorribleperson,andyoubrushitoff.Jacktellsyouhecan’tgooutwithyouanymore,andyou’re‘fine.’”“Butitwasabigdealbackthen,anditwaskindofobvious,butnoonedid

anything.”“AndIfeltawfulbecauseIdidn’t,andthenonedayyouweregone.You

didn’tcomeback.”“Isthatwhyyou’resonicetomenow?”“It’swhyIcameupandsaidhitoyouonthefirstdayofschool,butit’snot

whyI’mnicetoyou.I’mnicebecauseIlikeyou.I’mjustreally,really,reallysorryIwasn’tagoodfriendthen.”Anditdoesn’tchangeanything,butit’senough.“Icouldhavebeenabetterfriendtoo.Icouldhavetalkedtoyou.Icould

havetoldyouhowIwasfeeling.”Andthenshehugsme,andIinhaleherhair,whichtasteslikerainbowsandpeachpie,exactlyhowyouthinkBaileyBishop’shairwouldtaste.

WhenwewalkintoDaveKaminski’s,thefirstpersonIseeisMickfromCopenhagen.He’sinthelivingroom,dancinginthiscircleofgirls,andhisblackhairisshiningblue-blacklikecrowfeathers.Nexttome,Jayveegoes,“Hello,MickfromCopenhagen,”inthisthroatyvoice,andthenpretendstofaintintoIris’sarms.IfollowBaileythroughthecrowd,andDaveKaminski’shousedoesn’tlook

likeahousebutsomesortoffraternity.Itisliterallycrammedwithsomanypeople,wecanbarelymove.Themusicisloud,andpeoplearedoingtheirbesttodance,butit’smorelikejumpingstraightupanddowninplace.Myfirsthighschoolparty.Themusicisgood,andsoI’mshakingmyhipsalittleasIwalk,andwhenI

accidentallybumpsomeguy,heyells,“Watchit!”Itellmyhipstobestillandbehavethemselves,andfinallywebreakthrough

intothediningroom,whereDaveKaminskiisplayingpokerwithagroupofguysandacoupleofgirls.BaileygoesuptoDaveandsayssomethinginhisear,andsuddenlyhe’sgrabbingheruntilshe’ssittingonhislap,andshe’slaughingandplay-hittinghim,andthenshehugshimandcomesbackovertous.“Dave’sreallygladwe’rehere.”Isay,“Apparently.”AndthenDaveKaminskicatchesmyeyeandgivesmethisnod,andthere’s

somethinginitthatfeelsalmostlikeanapology.

Caroline(darkskin,smellslikecinnamon,beautymarkbyhereye)andIareinKam’ssister ’sroom.LiterallyeveryinchofwalliscoveredinpostersofBoyParade,soit’salittlelikesittinginthemiddleofaverysmallarenafulloftwenty-year-oldguys.Theirfacesareeverywhere,andtheireyesaregluedtous.Theyaresmilingtheseunnaturallywhitesmilesthatglowinthedark.ShethinksI’vebroughtherinheretomakeout.ButinsteadI’mtryingtosee

onceandforallifIcantricksweetCarolineintocomingoutandhavingarealconversationwithme.BecauseImissLibby.BecauseImisstalkingtosomeonethewayIcantalktoher.Afterallthistime,CarolineandIhaveourroutinememorized.Until

recently,Itrytogetinherpants,andshetakesoffherclothesbecauseI’mnotallowedtoincaseImessupherhair.Whatcomesnextiswewillalmosthavesex,andI’llholdherforalittlewhile,andthenI’lllietherewonderingWhenwhenwhen?Usuallymyheart’snotinit,onlymybody,andmymindcooperatesby

goingblank.Buttonightmymindisincharge.LikeMr.Levine,itwantstoknowwhy.Whyareyoudoingthis?Whyareyouevensittingherewiththisgirl?Whydoyoukeependingupwiththisperson?Whydon’tyoujuststop,Jack?Whydon’tyoujustliveyourlifeandbeyourself?WhichiswhyIgo,“What’sthebestthingthat’severhappenedtoyou?”Sheblinksatme.“I’msupposedtosay‘JackMasselin,’right?”“Onlyifit’strue,baby.Comeon,Iwanttoknow.Inthewholehistoryof

yourlife,what’sthebestthingthat’severhappenedtoyou?”“Idon’tknow,maybewhenChloewasborn.”Chloeisherlittlesister.

“What’stheworstthingthateverhappened?”“WhenmycatDamongothitbyacar.”Theworstthingthateverhappenedtomewasfuckingupmyrelationship

withLibbyStrout,butIsay,“There’sgottobesomethingelse.”“Why?”“Becauseyouusedtobedifferent.Shy.Quiet.Dorky.”“God,don’tremindme.”“Okay,sowhat’sonethingpeopledon’tknowaboutyou?”Shefrownsdownatthebed.“Ihatethecolorbrown.Idon’tliketurtles.And

IgotmywisdomteethoutwhenIwasfourteen.”Boring,boring,andboring.IalmostsayIhaveaneurologicalglitchinmy

brainthatkeepsmefromrecognizingfaces.Boom!Muahahahahahahaha.ButinsteadIaskanotherquestionandanother,andthewholetimeshe

answersinthisflat,dullvoiceandpicksatthecomforter.Asshetalks,I’mbarelylisteningtoheranswers.InsteadI’mthinking,Allthistime,Ithoughtshewasasecurityblanket,butthere’snosecurityhere.Howcantherebewhenshedoesn’tseemeanymorethanIseeher?Imightaswellbealone.And,ofcourse,Iamalone.Andthensuddenlysheliftshershirtoverherhairanddropsitontothe

floor.Shereadjustsherbrastrapandleansbackseductively.Shebitesherbottomlip,whichisalsopartoftheroutine.Acoupleofyearsago,thebottomlipthingslayedme.I’mabouttosaysomethingalongthelinesofPleaseputyourshirtbackon

whenthisshifthappens,beforemyeyes,andCarolinegrowspalerandfulleruntilshe’snolongersittingthere.It’sLibbyStrout,leaningbackononearm,pluckingatthestrapofherelectric-purplebikini.Butshe’stalkingandtellingmethingsandlaughingandaskingmequestions,andI’mtalking,andthenshe’ssittingupandleaningin,andwe’rebothjusttalkinguntilshesays,“Um.Hello!”Andsnapsherfingersinmyface.Andit’sCarolineagain.Istareather,hopingshe’llmorphbackintoLibby,andshegoes,“Whatis

yourproblem?Whyareyoubeingsoweird?”Andshe’sgotthissexybraandthissexybody,andthereisn’tasingleguyatMVBHigh,eventheoneswhoareafraidofher,whowouldn’twanttobemerightnow.Ilaymyhandonherlegandit’ssmoothandfeelslikesatin,andallIcanthinkis:Idon’tloveCaroline.Idon’tevenlikeCaroline.IforcemyselftothinkofthingsIlikeaboutthisCarolinerightnow,theonly

onewho’shere.

Shesmellsgood.Herteetharevery…um…even.Hereyesareokay.Hermouthisnice.Imean,Iguess.Buttheshitshesays?Notsonice.Libbyhasinteresting

thingstosaythataren’tcruelorselfish.Isaytomybrain,Whyareyoudoingthis?Whycan’tyoustopthinkingabout

Libby?Whyareyoufuckingwithme?AndasI’msittingherehavingthisin-depthconversationwithmybrain,

Carolinegoes,“I’mthinkI’mready.”“Forwhat?”“It.”I’mtryingtolookintohereyes,buttheroomisdarkexceptforthelightthat

slipsinunderthedoorandherphone,whichgoesbrighteveryotherminutefromallthetextscomingin.“It.Sex,Jack.I’mreadytohavesex.Withyou.”Andthenherecomesthe

attitude:“Unlessyoudon’twantto.”I’veonlybeenwantingtosincebirth,butinexplicablyIhearmyselfsay,

“Whynow?”“What?”“Whyareyousuddenlyreadynow?Afterallthistime?Whatchanged?”Apparentlymymouthhasamindofitsownbecauseitwon’tstoptalking.My

manlierpartsaregoing,STOPTALKING,YOUIDIOT!SHUTTHEFUCKUP!Butmymouthisn’tlistening.Whyisn’titlistening?“Areyougonnaarguewithmeaboutthis?”“Isthisreallywhereyouwanttodoitforthefirsttime?Imean,lookaround

you.”Ipointtothewallsofposters.Idislodgeastuffedanimalfromundermybackandwaveitinherface.“Youwouldn’treallywanttodoitinfrontofthislittleguy,wouldyou?”“Areyoufreakingkiddingme?”AndsheshovesmesohardIgoflyingoff

thebed.

MickfromCopenhagenandIaredancing,hishairflashingblue-black,blue-black,andhissmileflashingwhite,white,white.Wearemakingupdancesaswego—actually,I’mmakingthemupandhe’stryingtofollowalong.“IcallthistheWindMachine!”AndthenIactlikeI’mpushingthroughawindstorm.“IcallthisShoesonFire!”AndthenI’mjumpingaroundlikemyshoesareonfireandIdon’twanttotouchtheground.Whenaslowsongcomeson,heholdsouthishandandItakeit.Dancing

withhimisdifferentfromdancingwithJack.Foronething,Mickisaboutfifteenfeettall,somyfaceispressedintohischest.Foranother,hekindofjustswaysbackandforthandshuffleshisfeet.StopthinkingaboutJackMasselin.Jack,whodoesn’twantyou,atleastnot

enoughtogiveitachance.FocusonMickfromCopenhagenandhisshinyteethandhisgianthands.WhenMicksays,“Comewithme,”Igowithhim.AsBaileywatches,mouth

open,IfollowhimupthestairsintowhatmustbeDaveKaminski’sbedroom.Mickturnsonthedesklightandsitsdownonthebed.Istandinthedoorwaystaringathim.HesmilesandIsmile,andthenhesays,loudenoughsoIcanhearhimallthewayoverhere,“IwaswonderingifIcouldkissyou.I’vewantedtokissyoufromthemomentIsawyou.”Andeventhoughhe’snotJackMasselin,ormaybebecausehe’snotJack

Masselin,Iwalkacrosstheroomandsitdownnexttohim,andsuddenlywe’rekissing.Myneckistwisted,andIwanttomoveit,butIdon’twanttomoveitbecause

it’sMickfromCopenhagen,andnowI’mgettingacrampinit,soIshiftjust

slightly,andnowI’mgettingacrampinmycalf.Itistheworstpainofmylife,buthereisagorgeousboykissingmyfaceoff,soIsoldieron.InspiteofthefactthatmybodyisseizingupeverywhereandI’min

excruciatingpain,he’sagoodkisser.I’mguessinghe’shadalotofpractice,becauseitfeelslikehe’sshowingoffalittle,doingalltheseintricatecircledanceswithhistongue.He’sworkingitlikearingmaster,anddon’tgetmewrong,there’snothingbadaboutit.ThisisprobablythewaytheykissinCopenhagen.He’sprobablybeenkissingpeoplelikethissincehewastwo.Thenthekissisoverandwepullapart,andIfeelthisweirdurgetoapplaud

becauseitseemslikeheexpectsit.Hesays,“Wow.”“Yeah,”Ibreathe.“Wow.”BecausewhatelseamIsupposedtosay?Next

time,don’ttrysohard.AndExcusemewhileIwalkoffthiscramp.“HaveyoueverbeentoScandinavia?”“No.”Ihaven’tbeenanywhereexceptOhio.IwonderthenifheknowsI’ve

spentpartofmylifelockedinsidemyhouse.“Youshouldgosometime.”ButwhatIhearisMaybeI’lltakeyouthere.Maybewe’llgobackandI’ll

showyouwhereI’mfromandyoucanmeetmyrelativesandIwillloveyouforever.AndeventhoughIdon’twanttomeethisrelativesandIdon’twanthimto

lovemeforever,Ikisshimagain.BecausewhileI’mkissinghim,thereisnoAmerica’sFattestTeen,atleastnotfortonight.Nocranesorhospitals.Nodeadmother.NoMosesHunt.Mostimportantofall,noJackMasselin.Thereisjustme.Andthisboy.Andakiss.

I’veneverseenCarolinecrybefore,soforaminuteIsitthere,completelystupid,tryingtofigureoutwhattodo.Sheishiccuppingandwheezing,likeshe’stryingtocatchherbreath.Istartpettingherlikeshe’sadog,andsheshrugsmeoff.“Whydon’tyouwantme?”Shesoundssmall,likeshe’sfoldedherselfin

halfandthenanotherhalfandthenanother.“Whatisitaboutme?”AndnowIgoevenmorestupidbecausehereisasideofCarolineIneverknewexisted.Isitpossibleshe’sasinsecureastherestofus?Isay,“You’rebeautiful.You’reCarolineAmeliaLushamp.”Butthisisn’t

whatshe’saskingme.Tellheryouwanther.ButIcan’tbecauseIdon’t,notlikethat.Istarttoscramble.Igiveitmyall.Itellheroverandoveragainwhosheisandhowbeautifulsheis,evenasshe’spullingonherclothes,evenasshe’sgrabbingherphone.Evenasshesays,“Ican’tdothisanymore,”andthrowsthedooropen,lettingthelightin.I’mtemporarilyblinded,andbythetimeIcanseeagain,she’sgone.

Wekissforwhatfeelslikehours.Wekissevenwhensomeonestumblesintotheroomandblindsuswiththe

overheadlightsandthenstumblesoutagain.Wekissuntilhehasmany,manyhandsandatongueinmyear,andIthink,I

don’twanttobePaulinePotter.Idon’twanthimtobemyfirst.Idon’twanthimtobemyanything.SoIpullawayandsay,“I’msorry,Mick,fromCopenhagen.I’mnotPauline

Potter.”Andhesitsbackandsays,“Who?”“Nevermind.IthinkIneedadrink.I’msorry,butIdon’twanttomakeout

anymore.”AndIkindofexpecthimtobedevastated,buthejustshrugsandsmilesat

me.“Okay.”Hehelpsmeup,andwewalkoutasIsmoothmyhairandshirt.Iwalk

behindhim,andeventhoughIdon’twanttomakeoutwithhim,MickfromCopenhagenissocuteIcan’thelpthinking,Girl,youAREwanted.Anditfeelsprettydamngood.

IfindKaminthekitchen,knockingbackshots.Hiswhitehairisplasteredtohisheadandhe’sgotonearmthrownaroundagirlwhomaybeKendraWu(small,Asian,longblackhairinabraid).Isay,“Whatarewedrinking?”TheGirlWhoMayBeKendrahandsmesomethingbrownthatdoesn’tlooklikebeer.Ithrowitdownmythroat.MyesophagusburnslikeIjustinhaledgasoline.I

say,“Another.”Andthenthey’reallhandingmeshots.Kamemptieshisownglassandslamsitontothecounter.Hepumpsboth

fistsintotheairandhowls.

Awhilelater,Iworkmywaythroughtheparty,searchingforablackMohawkbecauseIamtoofuckeduptodrivehome,andsuddenlyIwanttogohome.Iwanttogohomerightnow.IfindtheMohawkattachedtosomeonewhoisprobablySethoutsidebythepool.Atthispoint,Idon’tbotherlurking,tryingtomakesureit’shim.IwalkrightuptotheSomeoneWhoIsProbablySethandsay,“Ineedaridehome.”He’slike,“Sure,sure,Mass.Justwaittillwefinish.”Andheholdsupajoint,

takesadrag,andthenstartslaughingfornogoodreason.Igrabthejointoutofhishandandtakeadrag,becausemaybethisisthe

secretofliferighthere.Maybethiswillgivemeanswers.Instead,Iendupcoughinglikeanoldmanforagoodfiveminutes.Someonehandsmeadrinktowashitdown,andthenthepooltiltsandthegroundtiltsandsuddenlythesky

iswherethegroundshouldbe,andaboywithaMohawkisleaningovermegoing,“Areyouokay,man?”Iclosemyeyesbecauseno,I’mnot.Iwanttokeepthemclosedandgoto

sleephereintheskywherethegroundshouldbe,buttheworldtiltsworsewiththemclosed.Iopenthemagain,andsomehowIgetonmyfeet.MyonlyhopeisthatmaybeBaileyBishopishere,becauseshewon’tbedrinking.Butshedoesn’talwayscometoparties,andbesidesI’llneverfindherinthiscrowdofblondgirls.Igobackinside,anditseemslikethehouseisevenmorepackedwithpeople,likethestudentbodiesofthreemorehighschoolsarrivedwhileIwasoutbythepool.Idon’tknowanyone.Ishovemywaythroughthekitchen,thediningroom,thelivingroom.

Peopleareholleringatme,andonegirlmakesagrabforme,holdingontomyarmlikeit’saliferaft.ShesmellslikeCaroline,butsheisn’tCaroline—she’sskinnyandwhiteandhascurlyhairthecolorofmargarine.Shegoes,“OhmyGod,JackMasselin!”Andplantsakissrightonmymouth.Shetasteslikecigarettes,andIpushheraway.“Masshole.”Sheturnsand

danceswiththepeoplestandingnexttoher.I’mbreakingeveryruleI’veevercreatedforthisexactkindofsituation—I

don’tsmileornodorsay“Hey,what’sup.”Idon’tflirtwitheverygirl.Imakeeyecontact,asifsuddenlyI’llbeabletorecognizewhoeveryoneis.(Idon’t.)Istareatoneguysolong,hegoes,“Whatthefuckareyoulookingat?”ButIdon’tcare.I’mampedasallhellbecauseitfeelslikeI’mdoingsomethingdangerous,likeanysecondtheymightfiguremeout.TheroomI’minnowhastripledinsizeandthewallsaremilesaway.Itis

justpeoplefromheretothemoon,andIwillnevermakeitthroughallofthem.Ifeellikearockstar,completestrangersyankingatmyshirt,atmyarms,atme.Ipushthroughharderbecausethedoormustbetheresomewhere,andwhatIneedrightnowisair.MylungsarefillingwiththefumesofsmokeandboozeandmyearsarefillingwiththeboomboomboomofthemusicandmybrainisfillingwithallthisinformationthatIcan’tprocess.Icoulddrivemyselfhome.ExceptthatI’mwastedandIcan’twon’tshouldn’t

willnotdrive.Isaytosomeone,“Where’sthedoor?”“What?”He’sshouting.“Where’sthedoor?”I’mshoutingtoo.“Throughthere,man.”Henodshishead.AsI’mturning,agirlstumblesintome,andInearlylosemybalance.She

clutchesmyarm,andshe’slaughingandlaughing.“Sorry!”Shegrabsholdof

myhandandstartsspinningtothemusic.Ilethergo.Theairinhereissotightandclosethattheoxygenmaybedisappearing.

There’snotenoughairleft,andIpictureusalllaidoutlikecultfollowersafteramasssuicide.Ineedtogettoawindoworadoor,butI’mbeingswallowedbythisroomandthesepeopleandthismusic.Howaretheynotpanicking?Everyoneseemshappy,likethey’rehavingthetimeoftheirlives.Howaretheynotworriedaboutthelackofairinhere?Idon’trememberKam’shousebeingthisbigorcomplicated,butitfeels

massive.Isaytotheguynexttome,“Hey,howdoyougetoutofhere?”“What?”“Where’sthedoor?”“Ijustfuckingtoldyouwherethedooris.”It’sliketheworstdéjàvu,andwhatifI’mtrappedinhereforever,tryingto

findawayout,destinedtorelivethesameconversationsandthesameinteractionsoverandoveragain?Inthatmoment,Iwanttogiveupandletthecrowdcarrymeawayuntil

we’reallmovingasonecolossalbodywithhundredsofarmsandlegsandmouthsandeyes.TheweightofitwillsuffocatemeorflattenmeuntilI’masthinasapaperdoll,andthenmaybethey’llcarrymeoutside,whereIcanfloatoffonthebreezeordriftunderabushandlieinpeaceforever.Iclosemyeyes,andwhenIopenthemagainIseeit,justbeyondthecrowd

—thefrontdoor.I’mshovingmywaytherewhenIrunintoCaroline.Imean,it’sher.Sameblackshirt,samepants.Sheturns,andIdon’tseethebeautymark,butItellmyselfitmusthaverubbedoffwhenshepulledhershirtbackonormaybewhenshewasdancing.Beforeshecansayanything,Igrabherandkissher.Shecandrivemehome.ShewillgetmeoutofhereandI’llapologizeandshe

canbetheforgiver,andallwillbefine.It’salongkiss,oneofmybest,andevenasI’mkissingher,Iknow

something’swrong.ButIkeeprightondoingit,andwhenIfinallypushaway,Isay,“That’showmuchImissedyou.”

“IsthatJack?”Irispointsacrosstheroom.Thefourofusturnlikeoneperson,justintimetoseeJackMasselingrab

somegirlandstartkissingher.Onebyone,myfriendslookatme,andIrealizethatmyhandisonmy

mouth.IamtouchingthelipsthatMickfromCopenhagenrecentlykissed,andallIcanthinkisthatJackisfreetokissanyoneandeveryonehewants,butIdon’thavetostandhereandwatchit.Ipushmywaytowardthebackdoor,awayfromJackandthegirl.Icanhear

Baileycallingmyname,butIdon’tstop.Ican’tstop.Ialsocan’tbreathe.Outside,Istepintothecoolnightairandpushmywaypasteveryone

gatheredthereuntilI’maroundthecornerandthenightissuddenlyquiet,andI’malone.Ileanagainstthehouseandfillmylungs.

Carolinehastheweirdestlookonherfaceasshegazesupatme,andthensuddenlytherearetwoofthem.TwoCarolines,sidebyside.Matchingblackshirts,matchingpants,onlythisotheronehasabeautymarkbyhereye.Thesongends,andthere’sthisbriefmomentofquiet.Theonewiththe

beautymarkgoes,“You’resuchabastard.”Andthenthemusicstartsbackup,butbynoweverybodyislookingatus.Shestartstocryagain,hiccuppingandwheezing,andIknowinmybones

thatthisisCaroline,nottheotherone,theonewithoutthebeautymark,theonewhostandstherewithhereyesshiningandhermouthalltwistedupinapretendfrown.Youcantellthatwhoeverthisis—thecousin,mostlikely—she’senjoyingthehelloutofthis.IwanttosaytoherShe’syourfamily.Havealittlecompassion.Butthatwouldberidiculouscomingfromme,wouldn’tit?SoIdotheonlythingIcando.Iwalkover,shutoffthemusic,andsaytothe

entireroom,“Ihavearareneurologicaldisordercalledprosopagnosia,whichmeansIcan’trecognizefaces.Icanseeyourface,butassoonasIlookawayfromit,Iforgetit.IfI’mtryingtothinkofwhatyoulooklike,Ican’tconjureanimage,andthenexttimeIseeyouit’llbelikeI’veneverseenyoubefore.”Theroomhasgonedeadquiet.ItrytofindCarolineinthecrowd,toread

herexpression.ItrytofindanyoneIknow,buteverysinglepersonhereisastranger.Togetherthey’relikeawallofstones,anembarrassmentofpandas,onebleedingintotheother.Myheartisdrummingaway,andthesoundofitfillsmyears.IrealizeI’mshaking,soIjammyhandsintomypockets,wherenoonewillsee.Saysomething.Anyone.

Andthensomeoneyells,“Fuckoff,Mass,whatthehell.”Andpeoplearelaughingandfallingalloverthemselves,andthemusicstartsblastingagain,andagirlcomesuptomeandslapsmeacrosstheface,butIhavenoideawhosheis.Theythinkit’sajoke.TheythinkI’majoke.AndIcanseethemstartingtoturnonme.TheonlymoviesI’veeverreallyenjoyedwatchingaretheoldblack-and-

whitehorrorflicks.Imayhavetroubletellingthepeopleapart,butIcanrecognizetheWolfMan,KingKong,Dracula,theThingfromOuterSpace.Rightnow,I’mlookingatagangofvillagers—facesidentical—armedwithclubsandtorches,readytochaseFrankenstein’smonsteroffacliff.OnlyI’mthemonster.Ipushmywaythroughthembecausethere’snothingelsetodo.Theycrane

aroundtostareatmeasIcarveapathtothefrontdoor,andsomeonetripsmeandsomebodyelsegoes,“Lookatme,Ican’tseefaces,”andhe’swalkinglikeamummy,armsoutinfrontofhim,bumpingintowallsandpeople.Ithrowmyselfatthedoor,wrenchitopen,andasI’mtryingtomovearoundthemountainofaguystandingonthefrontstep,I’msuddenlyhitwiththeforceofasmallmeteorrightbetweentheshoulderblades,andIgoflying.Ilandintheyard,onmyknee,andittakesmeaminutetoshakeoffthesurpriseandthepain.AhandisextendedandItakeitwithoutthinking.Itpullsmetomyfeet,andit’sthenIseethatthehandbelongstothesamemountainofaguy.Hegoes,“Hey,Mass.Youlooklikeshit.Mustbeabadnight.It’sabouttoget

worse.”Andthenhetakesaswing.Hisfistsarecomingatmetoofasttoduck,too

fasttomove.Overandoverhisfistsmakecontactwithbone,ormaybehe’snottheonlyoneswinging.Atsomepoint,Ihearmyselfsay,“Moreweight.”Andthentheworldgoesblack.

I’mroundingthecornerofthehouse,intothefrontyard,whenIseeMosesHuntpunchJackMasselinintheback.Inslowmotion,Jackfalls,andashehitstheearth,IswearIcanheartheimpact.NowMosesHuntispunchinghimintheface,andoneoftheotherHuntbrothers,Malcolmmaybe,iskickinghimintheribs.Idon’teventhink.Imustletoutsomesortofscream,becauseIcanfeelmy

owneardrumsshatterandIseethefacesofMosesandMalcolmandReedYoungandtheirfriendsturnandstareatme,mouthsagape,asIgoflyingthroughtheair.IsockMosesrightinthenose,anditsendshimstaggeringbackward.ThenI

shoveeveryoneoffJack,andI’mnoteventhinking.I’msuddenlyfilledwithallthissuperstrength,andI’msingle-handedlyfightingthemalluntilDaveKaminskiandSethPowellandKeshawnPricearetherebesideme,scaringthebadguysaway.IwatchastheHuntsrunoffdownthestreet,tailsbetweentheirlegs,andas

DavebendsoverJack,tryingtoshakehimbacktoconsciousness.

ThefirstfaceIseeisLibby’s.Foraminute,Idon’tknowwhereIam.Ithinkmaybeit’sadreamandthatI’veconjuredher.Ireachupandcoverherfacewithmyhand.Shebatsitaway.“He’sawake.”ButIhavetotouchheragaintomakesureshe’sreal.Itweaktheendofher

nose.“Pleasestopdoingthat.I’mreal,Jack.”Aguywithwhite,whitehairappearsbesideher.“Theyweregoingtokill

you,Mass.”“I’mokay.”AndnowI’mfeelingmychest,searchingformyheartbeat,

makingsureit’sstillticking.OnceIcanfeelitbatteringawayinthere,Isayagain,“I’mokay.”AboywithaMohawkpopsupoverKam’sshoulder.“Dude,shetotally

savedyourass.”Andthenhestartslaughinglikeafool.

Libbysays,“I’mgoingtodriveyouhome.”“Youdon’thavealicense.”“Seriously?”“What?Icandrive.”EventhoughIknowIcan’twon’tshouldn’twillnotdo

so.“YOU’VEBEENDRINKING.Where’syourcar?”“Justdownthestreettotheright.Aboutthreehousesaway.”Shebrushespastsonowshe’swalkingaheadofme,leadingmeawayfrom

theparty,andIcatchawhiffofsomething—sunshine.

Atfirstwedon’ttalk.It’sasifthecarisbeingpoweredbyourminds,andtheharderweconcentrate,thefasterwe’llgetthere.Heisstaringoutthewindow,notdoinganythingexceptsitting,butI’mcompletelyandfullyawareofhim.Thewayonehandrestsontheseat,theotheronthewindow.Thewayeverynowandthenthestreetlightscatchthegoldflecksinhisdarkhair.Thewayhislegsarelongerthanmine,andthewayhesits,likehe’sperfectlyateasenomatterwhereheis.Hemustfeelmethinkingabouthim,becausehesays,“Itfeelsgoodjustto

sithere.Withonepurpose.Knowingwherewe’reheaded.Knowingwhatwe’lldowhenwegetthere.Cutanddried.Blackandwhite.”“Iguessitdoes.”AndIknowwhathemeans.Helooksatme.“DoyouknowwhoHerschelWalkeris?”“Footballplayer?”Hewhistles,thengoes,“Ow.”Hecradleshisjaw.“Whenyou’rehousebound,youwatchalotofTV.”Eventhingsyou’renot

interestedin,likeESPNdocumentariesandhomeimprovementshows.“Well,asyouclearlyalreadyknow,hewasoneofthemostpowerful

runningbacksinfootballhistory,right?Butwhenhewasyoung,Iguesshewasafraidofthedark—like,terrifiedofthedark.Andhewasoverweightandhestuttered,andalltheotherkidsgavehimhellforit.SowhathedoesishecreatesthisIncredibleHulkinsidehim,someonewhocouldstanduptopeopleandnevergiveup.”IdecideIlikeHerschelWalker,andthatinmanyways,IamHerschel

Walker.

“He’dreadaloudeveryday,andbydoingthat,hetaughthimselfnottostutter.Inmiddleschool,hestartedworkingouthard,andbyhighschoolhewasabeast.HegraduatedvaledictorianandwontheHeismanTrophy,threeyearsintohiscollegecareeratUGA.Whenheretiredfromthepros,hestartednoticingthisshiftinhisbehavior,andthat’swhenhefoundouthe’sgotthisthingcalledDID,dissociativeidentitydisorder.Multiplepersonalities.”HegestureslikeMr.Dominguezindriver ’sed.“Youwanttogetinyourleftlane.”Ichangelanesandstopatthelight.“Atthenextlight,you’regoingtoturnleftontoHillcrest.”Iseethemapinmymind—myoldneighborhood.Ilearnedeverystreetinit

theyearIgotmyfirstbike.Iwouldtakeoffandrideallover,mymomrunningalongsideme,laughing,saying,“Libby,you’retoofast.”EventhoughIwasn’t.ButIrememberthewayshemademefeel—likeIcouldgoanywhereanddoanything.Jacksays,“Soafterallthoseyearsofpushinghimselfandnotgivingup,it’s

likethepressuredidHerschelin.WhenhewasaskedabouttheDID,hecomparedittohats—youknowhowwewearhatsforalldifferentsituations?Oneforfamily.Oneforschool.Oneforwork.ButwithDID,it’slikethehatsgetmixedup.Soyou’rewearingthefootballhatathome,thefamilyhatatwork…”“Toomanyhats.”Ithink,Iknowwhatthisislike.“Afterawhile,itgetshardtokeepthemstraight.”AndIwonderifwe’restilltalkingaboutHerschelWalkerorifwe’renow

talkingaboutJack.Hesays,“Ithinkwe’remorelikeHerschelWalkerthanMaryKatherine

Blackwood.Iactuallydon’tthinkwe’relikeheratall.”Icanfeelhimlookingatme,butIkeepmyeyesontheroad.Hesays,“Thankyouforhelpingmetonight.”“Iprefertothinkofitassaving.”“Fine.Thankyouforsavingme.”AndnowIcan’thelpbutlookathim.And

hesmiles.Itisslowatfirst,creepingacrosshisfacelikeasunriseuntilsuddenlyitshineslikethehottestpointoftheday.IsitononehandsothatIdon’tcovermyeyes,whichiswhatIwanttodo.Ismileathim.Andoureyeslock.Neitherofusbreaksaway,andIactuallydon’twantto,evenwhenIremind

myselfI’mdriving,Hello.Idragmyeyesawayandstareoutthewindshield,buteverythingisablur.I

canfeelhimlookingatme.

Youneedtocalmdown,girl.Calm.Yourself.Down.Wehitapothole,andtheLandRoversoundsasifit’sgoingtobottomout.Jacksays,“Christ,thiscarisshit.”

Weturnontomyoldstreet,CapriLane.Ihaven’tbeenbackheresincethatdaytheycarriedmeawaytothehospital.Jackistalking,butI’mnotlisteningbecauseeverythingiscomingbacktome.Mymom.Beingtrappedinthere.Thefeelingofnotbeingabletobreathe,ofthinkingthiswasit,ofthinkingIwasdying.Ofbeingrescued.WhenIwokeupinthehospital,everythingwaswhite.Blue,gray,black,

white,liketheyweretheonlycolorsintheworld.“Youhadananxietyattack,”mydadsaid.“You’regoingtobeokay,butweneedtomakesureitdoesn’thappenagain.”We’regettingclosertomyhouse,andIcanseeitcomingtowardme,only

it’snothinglikeitusedtobebecause,ofcourse,theyhadtotearmyhousedown,didn’tthey?EventhoughitwasthelastplaceIsawmymomalive.Eventhoughmemoriesofherwereineverywallandfloor.Iexpecttodriverightbyit,butJacksays,“Pulloverhere.”Atfirst,Iwonder

ifhe’splayingsomesortofmessed-upjoke.Butno,he’swavingatthetwo-storyhouseacrossthestreetandsaying,“Let’sseeifmybrother ’sinthere.Ifheis,hecandriveyouhome.”HegetsoutoftheLandRoverandstartsupthewalk.Idon’tmove.Then—somehow—Iopenthedoor.Isetonefootontheground.Ipull

myselfout.Isettheotherfootontheground.Istandthere.Isay,“That’syourhouse?”Heturns.“Comeonalready.”AndthenhelookspastmeatwhereIusedto

live,andhisfacegoesblank,almostlikehe’sseeingaghost.“Howlonghaveyoulivedthere?”It’sallIcandotogetthewordsout.Hedoesn’tanswer.Helookslikehe’shavingastroke.“Jack?Howlonghaveyoulivedthere?Inthathouse?”Silence.“Answerme.”“Allmylife.”Andtheworldjuststops.“Canyoutellmewhathappened,Libbs?Canyoutellmewhathasyouso

panicked?”

“Allofit.”Thatwasmyanswer,eventhoughIknewmydadwasexpectingsomethingmorespecific.“Everything.Itwasyou.Me.Aneurysms.Death.Cancer.Murder.Crime.Meanpeople.Rottenpeople.Two-facedpeople.Bullies.Naturaldisasters.Theworldhasmepanicked.Theworlddidthis.Especiallythewayitgivesyoupeopletoloveandthentakesthemaway.”Buttheanswerwasactuallysimple.Ihaddecidedtobeafraid.Idon’tknowhowlongittakesmetospeak.FinallyIsay,“Iusedtolive

there.”Ipointatthenewhouse,shinyandbigandperfectlyintact,thatsitsontopofthegravethatismyoldone.Thenewhouseisnothingliketheonethatwastherebeforeit.“Iknow.”“Howdoyouknow?”Andbynow,I’mwaitingforit.Ijustwanttohearhim

sayit.“BecauseIwastherethedaytheycutyouout.”

Marcusisdriving,andI’minback.Mybrotherisinamoodabouthavingtoleavethehouse,andnowhe’sshootingmedeathlooksviatherearviewmirror.Hewon’teventurnontheradio,thisishowbaditis.ThethreeofusaredrivinginsilenceexceptforLibbygoing“Turnhere”and“Makearightthere.”Hervoicesoundsfrostbitten.NowthatI’mdoingnothingbutsitting,myheadhasgoneheavyfromthebooze.It’swarminthecarandquiet.Soquiet.Imustbluroffforabitbecausemy

phonebuzzesandIjump.Idigitoutofmypocketandthere’satextfromKam.Youok,man?

Itextback:Fine.Sethsaidsomethingaboutyougoingblind?

Istareatthescreen,atthebackofLibby’shead.Iclickmyphoneoff,thenclickitonagain.Iwrite:

I’mface-blind.Prosopagnosia.It’sathing.Justdiagnosed.

Whenhedoesn’twriteback,Ishovethephoneintomypocket.Igetthisurgetoshoutintothesilence,butIdon’t.Inafewminutesmyphonebuzzesagain.Idon’tbothertolookatit.

Weeventuallygettoherneighborhood,andMarcusslowsthecartoacrawl,inchingalong,peeringoutthewindow.Partofmehopeswe’llneverfindherhousesothatIcanmakethisright,andanotherpartofmeisjustdone.Donewithher.Donewitheverything.

Inevitably,we’rethere,andI’mstruckalloveragainbyhowherhouselooksexactlylikealltheotherones.IfIwasdesigningahomeforLibbyStrout,itwouldbeexceptional.Itwouldbeoneofakind.Itwouldbebrightredwithatinroof,atleasttwostories,possiblymore,astate-of-the-artweatherstation,andlotsofturrets.Alsoatower,butnotonetolockherin.Itwouldbeaplacewhereshecouldsitandlookoutoverandbeyondthetown,asfarasthehorizon,maybeevenpastit.Marcussays,“We’rehere.”Libbytellshimthankyouandpracticallyhurlsherselfoutofthecar.I

alwaysforgethowfastsheis.She’satherfrontdoorbythetimeImanagetogetmyselfupthewalk.Shewhipsaroundtofaceme.“What?Whatisit,Jack?What?What?”“I’msorryIdidn’tsayanything.ButIdidn’twanttoembarrassyouany

morethanIalreadyhad.”“Youcouldhavementionedit.”“Icouldhavementionedit.Ifithelps,I’llwriteyoualetterofapology.”I

giveherahopefulsmile,butshewavesherhandatmelikeshe’serasingit.“No.Keepthattoyourself,doyouunderstandme,JackMasselin?Putthat

smileaway.Thatdoesn’tworkonme.You’resoworriedthatyoucan’teverbeclosetoanyone,butit’snotthefaceblindnessthat’stoblame;it’syou.Allthesmilingandthefakingandpretendingtobewhatyouthinkpeoplewantyoutobe.That’swhatkeepsyouisolated.That’swhatscrewsyouup.Youneedtotrybeingarealperson.”Idropthesmile.“Nexttomymomdying,beingcutoutofmyhousewastheworstmoment

ofmylife.DoyouknowIgothatemail?Everyonehadsomethingtosayaboutwhathappened,abouthowfatIwas,aboutmydad.TheywantedtomakesureIknewjusthowdisgustedtheywereandhowdisgustingIwas.Theysentthemtothehospitalandtheysentthemhere.Theyfoundmyemailandsentthemdirectly.Imean,whodoesthat?Whoseesastorylikethatonthenewsandsays,I’mgoingtowriteheraletterandgiveherapieceofmymind.IwonderifIshouldmailittothehospitalorjusthand-deliverit.Didyouandyourbrothershaveagoodlaughoverit?”Hereyesareblazing.SheisdaringmetosayYes,that’sexactlyhowitwas,

mybrothersandIsplitariboverit.Welovetowatchpeoplealmostdie.InsteadIsay,“I’msorry.”Inthatmoment,Iwanttowritenotjustoneapologyletterbuthundreds,one

foreveryhorriblepersonwhoeverdidorsaidanythingmeantoher.

“There’snowayanyonewouldhavedonethatiftheyknewyou.Andjustsoyouknow,noteveryonewaswishingyouharm.Wewererootingforyou.Iwasrootingforyou.”“Whatdidyousay?”“Iwasrootingforyou.”Somethingpassesacrossherface,andIcanseeit—sheknowsI’mtheone

whosentherthebook.

Mydadissittinginfrontofthecomputer.Theminutehehearsmecomein,he’supandpointingattheclockonthewall.“Whathappened?”ItellhimbecauseI’mtootiredtopretendeverything’sfine.Honestly,he

doesneedtoworryaboutme.Ican’tprotecthimforever.SoItellhimeverything,startingwithMickfromCopenhagenandthefightandMosesHuntandtakingJackhomeandrealizinghewastherethedaytheyknockeddownourhouse,andfindingoutthatallthistimehewasDeanofDean,Sam,andCastiel.AndthenItellhimtheotherthingsIstoppedtellinghimawhileago—aboutthelettersandtheDamselsandthepurplebikini.I’mwearyandangryandsadandheartbrokenandempty,andmorethananything,Iwanttogotosleep.ButmydadisallIhave.HeispacingasItalk,andassoonasIstop,hestops.Hesays,“Ineedto

knowthatyou’reokay.IneedtoknowifIshouldgoovertotheHunts’andpunchthatkidmyself.”Heisangryattheworldoutsidethishouse,andthatmakesmelovehimeven

more.“I’mgood,Dad.”“You’dtellme.”It’saquestion.“Youwilltellme.”“Iwill.Always.Fromnowon.”AndthenIsay,“I’msorry.ForeverythingI

putyouthrough.”IcantellheknowsI’mtalkingabouteverything,notjusttonight.“I’msorrytoo,Libbs.”Andithitsmesquareintheface.Allthegriefmydadhastakenand

swallowedandcarried—notjustthelossofmymom,butthelossof

compassionfromthepeoplewhoblamedhimforwhathappenedtome.Ifhegotmad,Ineversawit.Hejustcarrieson,makingsureIeathealthy,tryingtokeepmesafeandfeelingloved.Andthen,maybetoprovetherearenosecretsbetweenus,hetellsmeabout

thewomanhe’sbeenseeingoffandonforawhile.HernameisKerryandsheteachesmathatoneofthemiddleschools.She’shisage,marriedonce,nokids.Hedidn’twanttotellmebecausehe’snotsurewherethiswillleadorwhattheirrelationshipmeans,andhewantstobecarefulwithme,withher.ButIthinkreallyhejustdidn’twantmetofeelbadaboutbeingtheonlyoneintheworldwhohadn’tmovedon.Isaythistohimnow,andhetakesmyhand.“It’snotmovingon,Libbs.It’s

movingdifferently.That’sallitis.Differentlife.Differentworld.Differentrules.Wedon’teverleavethatoldworldbehind.Wejustcreateanewone.”

It’safter1a.m.whenMarcusandIgethome.Istandinfrontoftheopenfridgeforatleastfiveminutes,maybemore,willingsomethinggoodtomaterialize—apizza,awholechicken,agiantsteak,orarackofribs.Whenitdoesn’t,Igrabasodaandsomekindofguacamole/spinach/cheesedip,scroungeupsomechipsfromthepantry,andsitdowninthedarkkitchentoeatmyselfafeast.I’mhalfwayintothechipswhenmyphonelightsupacrosstheroom,where

Ileftit.Igetup,incaseit’sLibby,eventhoughIknowitwon’tbe.It’sKam.Hesays:

Shit.Thisprosopagnosiaisonetrippymo-fo.Butheyman,we’veallgotsomething.We’reallweirdanddamagedinourownway.You’renottheonlyone.

Ireaditthreetimesbecause,honestly,I’mstunned.MaybeDaveKaminskiwillactuallyturnintooneofthegoodguysbeforeadulthood.Anothertextcomesin.Douche.

Itextback.Dick.

AndthenIleaveeverythingandwalkupthestairstomyparents’room.Ibangonthedoor.Ijustbangthehelloutofittillanotherdooropensandthisskinnykidwithbigearsgoes,“Jack?”“Sorrytowakeyou,buddy.CanyougetMarcus?”“Sure.”Thedoortomyparents’roomopens,andthewomanwhoanswerslooks

half-asleep.Herhairisstickingup,andshe’sgotoneeyeclosed.“Jack?”Atthesightofme,botheyesopenwide,andshe’sreachingouttowardmyface,mychest.“OhmyGod,whathappenedtoyou?”AndIremember,Ohyeah,theHuntbrotherskickedtheshitoutofme.“It’snothing.I’mfine.Listen,IneedtotalktoyouandDad.”Ilookpasther,

buttheroomisempty.Behindme,there’sthesoundofadooropening,andthemanwhomustbemyfatherappearsfromtheguestroom.

Thefiveofussitonmyparents’bed,justlikeit’sChristmasEveandwe’rekidsagain.Marcushasn’tsaidaword.Hejuststaresatmefromunderallthathair.Isaytothem,“It’sarareneurologicaldisorder.”MomisgooglingasItalk.Dad:“Areyouhavingvisionproblemsorheadaches?”Dusty:“Maybeit’saconcussion.”“It’snotavisionproblem,andit’snotaconcussion.”Dad:“Igetconfusedsometimestoo.Iforgetnamesallthetime.Allthese

yearsatthestore,Istillcan’trememberpeople.”“It’snotthesame.There’saspecificpartofourbraincalledthefusiform

gyrustwelvethatidentifiesandrecognizesfaces.Forsomereason,mineismissingordoesn’twork.”Dustywantstoknowwhereitis,andIshowhim,andthenMomfindsa

diagramofthebrain.Theyallleanin,evenMarcus,andMomreads,“‘Peoplewithprosopagnosiahavegreatdifficultyrecognizingfaces,andmayfailtorecognizepeoplethattheyhavemetmanytimesandknowwell—evenfamily.’”SheglancesupatmelikeIsthistrue?andInod.“‘Prosopagnosiaiscausedbyaproblemwithprocessingvisualinformationinthebrain,whichcanbepresentatbirthordeveloplaterduetobraininjury.’”Marcussays,“Likewhenyoufellofftheroof.”ItellthemIwastested,andtheyhaveamillionquestions.Ianswerthemas

bestIcan,andatsomepointmymomsays,“Iwantyoutorememberthatyoucan’tfeelresponsibleforeverything.We’reyourparents,andwewillfigureusout.Allyouneedtodo,anyofyou”—shelooksatmybrothers—“isbeakidfornowandletusbethereforyou.”“Allofus?”Dustysays.“Eventhoseofuswithoutneurologicaldisorders?”“Allofyou.”

I’vealwaysthoughtyoushouldbeabletofreezetime.ThiswayyoucouldhitthePausebuttonatareallygoodpointinyourlifesothatnothingchanges.Thinkaboutit.Lovedonesdon’tdie.Youdon’tage.Yougotobedandwakeupthenextmorningtofindeverythingjustasyouleftit.Nosurprises.IfIcouldfreezetime,thisisthemomentIwouldchoose,fallingasleepon

mydad’sshoulder,Georgeonmylap,likeI’meightyearsoldagain.ThisiswhatIknowaboutloss:

Itdoesn’tgetbetter.Youjustget(somewhat)usedtoit.Youneverstopmissingthepeoplewhogoaway.Forsomethingthatisn’tthereanymore,itweighsaton.

BythetimeIstartedeating—reallyeating—thelosswasalreadysobigitfeltlikeIwascarryingaroundtheworld.Socarryingaroundtheweightwasn’tanyheavier.Itwastryingtocarryaroundboththatgottobetoomuch.Whichiswhysometimesyouhavetosetsomeofitdown.Youcan’tcarryallofitforever.

It’salmostdawnbythetimeIgettobed.Ilieontopoftheblanket,wideawake,shoeson,clotheson,staringattheceiling.Ifeelfull,andalsoempty,butnotinabadway.Maybeempty’snottherightword.Ifeellight.ImayloveLibbyStrout.Notjustlikelikeher.Love.AsinIloveher.Iloveherrollicking,throatylaughthatmakeshersoundasifshe’sgota

cold.Ilovethewayshestrutslikeshe’sonacatwalk.Ilovethehugenessofher,andIdon’tmeanheractualphysicalweight.AndthenIstartthinkingabouthereyes.Ifyouaskedmetotellyouwhat

Caroline’seyeslooklike,Icouldn’ttellyou.EventhoughIcandescribethemwhenI’mlookingdirectlyintothem,Ican’tdescribethemwhenshe’snotinfrontofme.ButIcantellyouwhatLibby’seyeslooklike.Theyarelikelyinginthegrassundertheskyonasummerday.You’re

blindedbythesun,butyoucanfeelthegroundbeneathyou,soasmuchasyouthinkyoucouldgoflyingoff,youknowyouwon’t.You’rewarmedfromtheinsideandfromtheoutside,andyoucanstillfeelthatwarmthonyourskinwhenyouwalkaway.Icantellyouotherthingstoo.

1. ShehasaconstellationoffrecklesonherfacethatremindmeofPegasus(leftcheek)andCygnus(rightcheek).

2. Hereyelashesareaslongasmyarm,andwhenshe’sflirting,shedoesthisdeliberate,slowblinkthatknocksmeoffmyfeet.

3. Alsothere’shersmile.Letmetellyou,it’samazing,likeitcomesfromthedeepestpartofher,apartmadeofblueskiesandsunshine.

AndthenI’mlike,Waitadamnminute.Isitup.Rubmyhead.Maybeit’sthebooze,but…WhendidIstartbeingabletorememberherface?AndsuddenlyI’mhavingthistotalSixthSenseexperienceasmymind

scrollsbackovertheweeksI’veknownher.IrunthrougheverysingletimeI’veseenher,everyinstanceI’vebeenabletopickheroutofacrowdorfindheroutofcontext.Itestmyself.Picturehereyebrows.Slightlyarched,asifshe’salwaysamused.Picturehernose.Thewayitwrinkleswhenshelaughs.Picturehermouth.Notjusttheredofherlips,butthewaythecornersturnup,asifshe’s

smilingevenwhensheisn’t.Pictureallthepiecestogether.Thewayhercheekbonescurveoutandherchincurvesin,almostlikea

heart.ThefiercenessandsoftnessandglowofherthatmakeherlooksoALIVE.Allthistime,Ithoughtitwasherweightthatmademeseeher.Butit’snotherweightatall.It’sher.

I’mupearly,eventhoughit’sSunday.IleavemydadanoteandthenI’moutofthehouse,bundledinajacketandscarf.Afterablock,myhandsarefreezing,andIjamthemdeepintomycoatpockets.I’mmeetingRachelintheparkbecauseIhavesomethingtotellher.IknowwhyIpunchedJackMasselin.

There’sachillintheairthatfeelslikewinter,oratleastthestartofit.Thisismyleast-favoritetimeofyearbecauseeverythingdiesorgoestosleep,andthere’stoomuchdeathandstillness,andtheskyturnsgrayforsolong,youthinkitwillneverbeblueagain.Rightnowtheskycan’tquitemakeupitsmind.It’sblueinpatches,grayinpatches,withspotsofwhite,likeafadedquilt.Rachelhasbroughtushotciderfromthecoffeeshopbyherhouse.Wesit

lookingatthegolfcourse,blowingonourdrinkstocoolthemdown.ItellheralittleaboutMickfromCopenhagenandMosesHuntandtakingJackhome.“JackasinJack?”“JackasinJack.”Beforeshecanaskmeabouthim,ItellheraboutthedanceteamI’mstarting

withBailey,Jayvee,andIris.“Thebestthingis,anyonecanjoin.Noweightrestrictionsorheightrestrictionsoragerestrictionsorsexrestrictions.Norestrictionsatall.Ifyoucandance,evenalittle,you’rein.Andwedanceforthejoyofdancing,wheneverandwhereverwewant.”“CanIjoin?”“Ofcourse.”“Willtherebetwirling?”

“Ofcourse!”“Andcostumes?”“Yes,buteachonewillbedifferent.”Shetellsmeabouthernewgirlfriend,Elena,agraphicdesignershemetat

Winkler ’sBakery.Shesaystheyhavealotofsillythingsincommonbutalsorealthings,importantthings,liketheywerethesameagewhentheycameouttofamilyandfriends.Sheblowsonherdrink,takesasip.Sheeyesmeoverthecup.“Youknow,that’swhatyou’vebeendoinginaway—comingout.Comingoutofyourroom.Comingoutofyourhouse.Comingoutofyourshell.”“IguessIhave.”IthinkaboutJack,asaloneinhimselfasIwasinmyroom

forallthoseyears.Asifshereadsmymindshesays,“Sowhydidyoudoit?Whydidyouhit

him?”“BecauseafterallI’vebeenthrough,Ifeltlikehewastryingtosingle-

handedlypickmeupandstuffmebackintothathouseandlockmein.LikehewastellingmeIwasrighttobepanickedandIwasrighttobeafraid.”“Noonecanlockyoubackin,Libby.Youchoosewhetheryouletthem.”“Iknowthatnow,likereallyknowthat.IthoughtIknewthatthen,butI

didn’t.”“Soareyoustillfriends?”“Heliedtome.”“Orhemighthavebeentryingtoprotectyou.I’mnotdefendinghim,buthe

probablythoughthewasdoingtherightthing.”“Maybe.”AndthenItellherabouttheletters.Shesetsdownherdrink.“Whenwasthelasttimeyougotone?”“It’sbeenawhile.SincebeforeIworethepurplebikini.”“Didyoufindoutwhowaswritingthem?”“No,butI’mprettysureIknow.AndIfeelsorryforherbecausethisperson

willnevercomeout.Shekeepswhoshereallyislockedawaywherenoonecanfindher,whereshecan’tevenfindher.”Rachelpicksupherdrinkagain.“ToLibbyStrout,thebiggestpersonI

know,andIdon’tmeanontheoutside.”Wetapourrecycledcups.“AndtoRachelMendes,forlovingmeeventhoughyoudon’thaveto.”IalmostsayAndforsavingmylifebecauseforsomereasonI’mthinkingof

myselfatelevenandthenatthirteen.Thatgirlfeelslikeadifferentgirl,someonefromalifetimeago,notanyonewhohasanythingtodowiththemeIamnow.ExceptthatIknowIwouldn’tbemewithouther.Iwouldn’tbeLibbyStrout,highschooljunior,withmyveryowngroupoffriends.Iwouldn’thave

dancedortwirledortriedoutfortheDamsels.Iwouldn’thavestoodupformyselforwornmypurplebikini.Iwouldn’thavegonetoBloomingtonorClara’swithaboyIliked.Reallyliked.Iwouldn’thavehadmyheartbrokenbecauseIwouldhavebeentooafraid.Andeventhoughtheacheofthatheartbreakhurtslikehell,it’ssomuchbetterthanfeelingnothing.AnotherthingIwouldn’tbedoing:sittingonthisbench,thecoldbitingmy

cheeksandnose,drinkinghotciderwithagoodfriend.AndeventhoughIdidn’tknowthisexactmomentexisted,Iwantedtobeouthereintheworldtoseeit.

AfterRachelleaves,Ileavemycopy—thecopy—ofWeHaveAlwaysLivedintheCastleonthebenchwiththisnote:

Dearfriend,Youarenotafreak.Youarewanted.Youarenecessary.Youaretheonlyyouthereis.

Don’tbeafraidtoleavethecastle.It’sagreatbigworldoutthere.Love,afellowreader

Herdadtellsmeshe’sattheparkwithafriend,andthat’swhereI’mheaded.Myphonerings,andit’sKam,butIdon’tanswer.SowhatifitwasDr.Kleincallingtosayshewaswrong,thatthere’sacure?

WhatwouldIdo?WouldIaltermybrainifitmeantgettingtorecognizepeoplethewayeveryoneelsedoes?WouldI?Iturnthisoverinmymind,tryingtoimagineit,tryingtopicturehowit

mightchangeme.Iwouldn’tbemeanymore,wouldI?BecauseaslongasIcanremember,this

ishowIfindpeople.Istudythem.Ilearntheirdetails.ThethingisIdon’tknowwhatitmeanstoseetheworldlikeothersdo.

MaybeIdon’trecognizemyselfinamirror,andmaybeIcan’texactlytellyouwhatIlooklike,butIdon’tthinkI’dknowmyselfthewayIdowithoutprosopagnosia.ThesamegoesformyparentsandmybrothersandmyfriendsandLibby.I’mtalkingaboutallthedetailsthatmakethemthem.Theylookateachotherandseethesamething,butIhavetoworkhardertoseewhat’stherebehindtheface.It’sasifItakethepersonapartandthenreconstructthem.IrebuildthemthesamewayIbuilttheShitkickerforDusty.Thisisme.Doesitmakemefeelspecial?Alittle.I’vehadtoworkreallyfuckinghard

tolearneveryone,andevenifskincolorandhaircolorhelpmefindpeople,that’snotwhotheyaretome.It’snotaboutthat.It’sabouttheimportantthings,likethewaytheirfacelightsupwhentheylaugh,orthewaytheymoveasthey’rewalkingtowardyou,orthewaytheirfrecklescreateamapofthestars.

I’montheedgeofthepark,bundledinmyjacket,scarfpulledupovermychin,whenarust-coloredLandRovercomescruisingalong.Itslamstoastopinthemiddleoftheroad,and,enginestillrunning,JackMasselinclimbsoutandswaggersovertome.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”“Yourdadsaidyouwerehere.Jesus,it’scold.Areyoureallywalkingback

toyourhouse?”“What.Are.You.Doing.Here?”Isayitslowerandlouder.“Look,I’msorryIdidn’ttellyouwhereIlivedandthatIsawyoutheday

youwererescued.Ishouldhavetoldyou,andyouhaveeveryrighttobepissedatme.”“Yeah,youshouldhave.”“Iknow.Iwaswrong.Butifit’sokaywithyou,there’ssomethingelseIneed

tosayrightnow.Wecangobacktothatlater,andyoucangivemehellaboutitallyouwant.”“What,Jack?”“You’retheoneIsee.”“What?”“You’retheoneIsee,LibbyStrout.You.”“Whatdoyoumean?”“Iseeyou.Irememberyou.Irecognizeyou.”Iwaveatmybody.“It’snotlikeyouhavefatblindness.”“Christalmighty,woman.Workwithmehere.”

“Sowhat?Youuseidentifierstofigureoutwhopeopleare.Theweightismine.”“Youridentifierisyou.Irememberyoureyes.Yourmouth.Thefreckleson

bothcheeksthatlooklikeconstellations.Iknowyoursmiles,atleastthreeofthem,andatleasteightofyourexpressions,includingtheonesyouonlydowithyoureyes.IfIcoulddraw,Iwoulddrawyou,andIwouldn’tneedtolookatyoutodoit.Becauseyourfaceisstuckinmymind.”AndthenhecloseshiseyesanddescribeshowIlookinawayI’venever

heardbefore.AsI’mhearingit,myheartisracing,andIknowthisissomethingI’llneverforget,notevenfiftyyearsfromnow.Heopenshiseyesandsays,“Iknowthewayyoumove.Iknowthewayyou

lookatme.Iseeyouseeme,andyou’retheonlyonewholooksatmethatway.WhetherI’mwithyouorawayfromyou,Idon’thavetothinkaboutitorputthepuzzlepiecestogether.It’sjustyou.That’swhatIknow.”“Thatdoesn’thavetomeanyouloveme.Justbecauseyouseeme.”Hiseyebrowsshootup,andhe’slaughing.“Whosaidanythingaboutlove?”Iwantmorethananythingtodisappearintothinair.“If,hypothetically,Ididloveyou,though,it’snotbecauseIseeyou,and,Oh

well,atleastIcanseeher,soImightaswellloveher.I’mprettysureIseeyoubecauseIloveyou.Andyeah,IguessIloveyoubecauseIseeyou,asinIseeyou,Libby,asinallofyou,asineverylastamazingthing.”Iwaitforhimtosayhypotheticallyagain,buthedoesn’t.Insteadhelooksatme.Ilookathim.Andwe’rehavingamoment.Itlastsforseconds,maybeminutes.Ipullthescarfupovermynose.Iwanttopullitovermywholehead.“Here.”Hehandsmesomething.Iturnitoverinmypalm,andit’samagnet.OHIO

WELCOMESYOU.Atfirst,Idon’tknowwhyhe’sgivingthistome.We’veneverbeentoOhio

together.I’veonlybeentoOhioonce.Yearsago.Withmyparents.Suddenly,I’mtransportedbacktomyhouse,backtothedaymymomfirst

stuckthatonourfridge.“We’regoingtofillthisupwithmagnetsofalltheplaceswe’llgo,”shesaid.“Ohiomaynotseemexotic,butoneday,whenthisiscovered,you’lllookbackonitandthink,That’stheonethatstarteditall.”Hesays,“Inevershouldhavetakenit.”

“Takenit?”“Fromyourhouse.Iwentbackthatday,toseewhatIcouldlearnaboutyou.I

hadtotellthesecurityguytopayattentionsoyouweren’tlooted.”“Afteryoulootedthis.”“Yeah.Andyourbook,theoneIsentyou.”“Whatmadeyoukeepthemagnet?”“Itremindedmeofyou.”“Wow,youaresappy.”Helaughs,rubshisjaw.“Apparently.”“That’sokay.”Myvoiceismuffledbythescarf.Ifoldmyhandaroundthe

magnet.Itsoundssilly,butIcan’thelpthinking,Sheheldthis.Partofherisstillhere.“I’mgladyoutookit.”It’stheonethatstarteditall.“LibbyStrout.”Hismouthandeyesareserious.Idon’tthinkI’veeverseen

himsoserious.“Youarewanted.”Andthenhetugsthescarfaway.Hetakesmyfaceinhishands,carefully,delicately,likeit’sarareand

preciousjewel.Andhekissesme.It’sthegreatestkissofmylife,whichIrealizeisn’tsayingmuch.Butit’sone

ofthoseworld-expandingkissesthatI’dputagainstanyotherkissthathashappenedandwilleverhappentoanyoneanywhere.It’sasifhe’sbreathingforme,ormaybewe’rebreathingforeachother,andI’mmergingintohimandhimintome,sothatmylimbsaren’tlimbs,andthebonesmeltawayandthenthemuscleandtheskinuntilallthat’sleftiselectricity.Thehazy-gray,early-morningskymorphsintothenightsky,andstarsareeverywhere,socloseIfeelIcouldreallycollectthemandtakethemhome,maybeweartheminmyhair.Idon’tknowwhopullsawayfirst,maybehim,maybeme.Butthenwe’re

standingwithourforeheadstouching,whichI’mgratefulforbecausethere’sthispartofmethat’sinwardlyshrieking,OhmyGod,it’sJackMasselin,andI’mnotawed,butI’malmostembarrassedbecauseIknowthisboyinawayotherpeopledon’t,andheknowsme.Eventually,ourheadsrightthemselves,oureyesmoveupandfindeach

other,andIdon’thavetowonderwhatIlookliketohim,becauseIcanseemethere,inthereflectionofhispupils,asifhereallyhasstoredmeawayandiscarryingmearoundwithhim.Hesays,“Huh.”Andbreathesoutlikehe’sbeenholdingitallthistime.

“Yeah.”Itrytobefunny,becausethisworldisstillnewtomeandI’mstillfindingmyfooting.Isay,“Imean,itdidn’texactlyshaketheearth.”Andmyvoicetrembles,justatouch.Butthethingisitdid.Itreallydid.Itshookthedamnpantsoffit.Wearedoingit.Thisishappening.Wearemeetingandchangingtheworld,

hisworldandmine.Mybodyislikeasinglenerveendingfromheadtotoe.Everythingfeels

aliveandmore.Myheartisopening,liketheheartofRappaccini’sdaughter,Beatrice,whenshemeetsyoungGiovanniafterhewandersintohergarden.AsIstandthere,Icanalmostfeelitunfold,petalbypetal,beatbybeat.

Isay,“Iloveyou.”Shesays,“Iloveyoutoo.”Andthenshelaughs.“It’skindofcrazy.Imean

you.”“Iknow.Whatthehell?”Shecovershermouthwithonehand,buthereyesareshining.I’mthinking

aboutafieldofgrassonasummerday.I’mthinkingaboutthesunandbeingwarmedfromtheinsideandbeingwarmedfromtheoutside.Itakeherhandunderthegray-blueskyandI’mhome.

Acknowledgments

HoldingUptheUniversecomesfrommyheart,aswellasfrommyownlossandfearandpain,andfromrealpeoplewhoaredeartome.Thosepeople—alongwithmanyothers—helpholdupmyuniverse.Iwouldn’thavebeenabletowritethisbookwithoutthem.Firstandforemost,thankyoutomyreadersaroundtheworld,whohave

becomemyfamily.(#ReadersAreLife)Iloveyouepicallyandeternally.Thankyoutomyincomparablybrilliant,bright,brightplaceofanagent,

KerrySparks,whoisthesavviest,wisest,mostdelightfulhumanontheplanet,andwhoisalways,alwayslookingoutformeineveryway.Thanks,too,totheentireteamatLevineGreenbergRostanLiteraryAgency.Youhaveturnedmyworldfromblack-and-whitetoTechnicolor.Thankyoutomylovely-beyond-lovelyeditor,AllisonWortche,andevery

singleoneofherimpeccableinstincts.Shedoesn’twieldaredpen,shewieldsamagicwand.AndthankyoutomyfantasticallysuperbUKeditor,BenHorslen,forallhisgenius.ThankyoutoeveryoneatKnopf,RandomHouseChildren’sBooks,and

PenguinUKfortheirkindness,support,andimmensebeliefinme,andforbeingtheverybestthereis.WithendlessthankstoBarbaraMarcus,JennyBrown,MelanieNolan,DominiqueCimina,JillianVandall,KarenGreenberg,KimLauber,LauraAntonacci,PamWhite,JocelynLange,ZackO’Brien,BarbaraPerris,AlisonImpey,StephanieMoss,RosamundHutchison,andClareKelly.AndwiththankstoDavidDrummondfortheutterlyspectacularcover.Bigthankstomysuperstarassistant,BrianaBailey,forallsheisanddoes,to

theincredibleShelbyPadgett(whois,Iswear,partwizard),andtoLaraYacoubian,WBAforever.AlsotoLettyLopez,andalltheGermMagazineeditors,directors,writers,andcontributors,withextraappreciationandhugstoBriana,Shelby,andJordanGripenwaldt.Youmakemelovelyandyoumakemeproudofallwe—you—havedone.

IdidnothavetoberescuedfrommyhousethewayLibbywas,butIhavestruggledwithweightissuesandanxietyovertheyears—particularlywhenIwasLibby’sage—andIknowwhatitfeelsliketobebullied.Inadditiontomyownexperience,Idrewontheexperiencesoffamilyandfriends,whoalsounderstandfirsthandwhatLibbyhasgonethrough.Iamnotpersonallyface-blind,butIhavefamilymemberswhoare.My

teenagecousinhaslearnedtorecognizethepeopleinhislife,notbyfaces,butbytheimportantthingslike“hownicetheyareandhowmanyfrecklestheyhave.”Thankyoutohimforhelpingmeseeashesees.Andhugethankstotheremarkable—andprosopagnosic—JacobHodes,who

gavethebookameticulousgoing-over.Heofferedmevitalfeedbackonwhatworkedandwhatdidn’t,aswellasinvaluablesuggestionsforhowtomakeJack’sjourneyasrealandauthenticaspossible.ThankyoutotheProsopagnosiaResearchCentersandDr.BradDuchaine,

oftheDepartmentofPsychologicalandBrainSciencesatDartmouthCollege,forhishelpandgenerosity.He,alongwithDr.IrvingBiederman,professorofneuroscienceandpsychologyattheUniversityofSouthernCalifornia,patientlyansweredallmymanyquestions.IalsowanttoacknowledgeChuckCloseandOliverSacks,whosevaried

workshaveprovidedinspirationandinformation,andmembersoftheYahooFaceBlindness–Prosopagnosiagroup,whoofferedsuchfascinating,illuminatinginsight.ThankyoutoDr.WilliamRiceIII,ofWakeForestBaptistMedicalCenter,

forhismedicalexpertise,andmybelovedcousinLearynvonSprecken,engineeringdynamo,whohelpedJackandmewithhismind-blowingprojects.Thanksalsoto:Myearlyreaders,LouisKapeleris,AngeloSurmelis,GarenThomas,Nic

Stone,BeckyAlbertalli,anddevotedAlltheBrightPlacesfanMargaretHarrison,whoseblurbforHoldingUptheUniversewouldread:“Tobehonest,afterAlltheBrightPlaces,Iwaskindofwaitingforsomeonetogethitbyatruckorsomethingonthelastpage.I’mgladnoonegothitbyatruck.”AndmyfellowYAauthor,hero,andfriendKerryKletter.Notonlyissheaterrificwriter,she’saterrificeditor.Shearrivedatoneofthemostpivotalmomentsinthisbook’slifeandstayedbymysidethroughit,offeringloveandsomemuch-neededhand-holding,aswellasthesmartesteleventh-houreditsanexhaustedwritercouldeverhopefor.IwillalwaysloveyouforwhatyougavetoJack,Libby,andme.MyotherYAauthorfriendsforcontinuedcamaraderieandinspiration,and

allofthebooksellersandlibrariansandeducatorsandbloggersIhavemet

overthepasttwoyears.Youarerockstarssupreme,andIcanneverthankyouenoughforallyouhavedoneforme.TheJackson5forkeepingmecompanyasIwrote,SamandDeanand

Supernaturalforhelpingmeescapeattheendofalongday,andtheprolificandtalentedJackRobinsonforwritingwhathasbecomeoneofmyfavoritesongsofalltime—“ILovetoLove”—andgraciouslyallowingmetoquotehislyrics.Myfamilyandfriends,nearandfar,especiallymyhearthome,Louis,

Angelo,EdBaran,andmyliterarykitties—Iwouldn’thavemadeitthroughthepasttwoyearswithoutyou.Thisbookisformyfunny,stoic,brilliantdad,whowasalwayshavingto

askmetoturndownmymusic(butwhowastheoneresponsibleforbuildingmetheworld’sbest—andbiggest—stereosystem).Anditisformymother,whogavemedancingshoesandthewordsto

accompanythem.Shetaughtmetowalkinotherpeople’sskin,toknowthatIcouldbeanythingIwantedtobeanddoanythingIwantedtodo,andsheneveroncemademeforgetthatIamwanted.HoldingUptheUniverseisthefirstbookI’vewrittenthatshewillneverread,butyouhavereadit,andthatmeansmorethanIcansay.

Thestoryofagirlwholearnstolivefromaboywhowantstodie…

TheodoreFinchwantstotakehisownlife.VioletMarkeyisdevastatedbyhersister ’sdeath.Theymeetontheledgeoftheschoolbelltower,andsotheir

storybegins.

Readonforanextract…

FinchIamawakeagain.Day6.

Istodayagooddaytodie?ThisissomethingIaskmyselfinthemorningwhenIwakeup.Inthird

periodwhenI’mtryingtokeepmyeyesopenwhileMr.Schroederdronesonandon.AtthesuppertableasI’mpassingthegreenbeans.AtnightwhenI’mlyingawakebecausemybrainwon’tshutoffduetoallthereistothinkabout.Istodaytheday?Andifnottoday—when?IamaskingmyselfthisnowasIstandonanarrowledgesixstoriesabove

theground.I’msohighup,I’mpracticallypartofthesky.Ilookdownatthepavementbelow,andtheworldtilts.Iclosemyeyes,enjoyingthewayeverythingspins.MaybethistimeI’lldoit—lettheaircarrymeaway.Itwillbelikefloatinginapool,driftingoffuntilthere’snothing.Idon’trememberclimbinguphere.Infact,Idon’tremembermuchof

anythingbeforeSunday,atleastnotanythingsofarthiswinter.Thishappenseverytime—theblankingout,thewakingup.I’mlikethatoldmanwiththebeard,RipVanWinkle.Nowyouseeme,nowyoudon’t.You’dthinkI’dhavegottenusedtoit,butthislasttimewastheworstyetbecauseIwasn’tasleepforacoupledaysoraweekortwo—Iwasasleepfortheholidays,meaningThanksgiving,Christmas,andNewYear ’s.Ican’ttellyouwhatwasdifferentthistimearound,onlythatwhenIwokeup,Ifeltdeaderthanusual.Awake,yeah,butcompletelyempty,likesomeonehadbeenfeastingonmyblood.Thisisdaysixofbeingawakeagain,andmyfirstweekbackatschoolsinceNovember14.Iopenmyeyes,andthegroundisstillthere,hardandpermanent.Iaminthe

belltowerofthehighschool,standingonaledgeaboutfourincheswide.Thetowerisprettysmall,withonlyafewfeetofconcretefloorspaceonallsidesofthebellitself,andthenthislowstonerailing,whichI’veclimbedovertogethere.EverynowandthenIknockoneofmylegsagainstittoremindmyselfit’sthere.

MyarmsareoutstretchedasifI’mconductingasermonandthisentirenot-very-big,dull,dulltownismycongregation.“Ladiesandgentlemen,”Ishout,“Iwouldliketowelcomeyoutomydeath!”Youmightexpectmetosay“life,”havingjustwokenupandall,butit’sonlywhenI’mawakethatIthinkaboutdying.Iamshoutinginanold-school-preacherway,alljerkingheadandwordsthat

twitchattheends,andIalmostlosemybalance.Iholdonbehindme,happynooneseemstohavenoticed,because,let’sfaceit,it’shardtolookfearlesswhenyou’reclutchingtherailinglikeachicken.“I,TheodoreFinch,beingofunsoundmind,doherebybequeathallmy

earthlypossessionstoCharlieDonahue,BrendaShank-Kravitz,andmysisters.Everyoneelsecangof---themselves.”Inmyhouse,mymomtaughtusearlytospellthatword(ifwemustuseit)or,betteryet,notspellit,and,sadly,thishasstuck.Eventhoughthebellhasrung,someofmyclassmatesarestillmilling

aroundontheground.It’sthefirstweekofthesecondsemesterofsenioryear,andalreadythey’reactingasifthey’realmostdoneandoutofhere.Oneofthemlooksupinmydirection,asifheheardme,buttheothersdon’t,eitherbecausetheyhaven’tspottedmeorbecausetheyknowI’mthereandOhwell,it’sjustTheodoreFreak.Thenhisheadturnsawayfrommeandhepointsatthesky.AtfirstIthink

he’spointingatme,butit’satthatmomentIseeher,thegirl.Shestandsafewfeetawayontheothersideofthetower,alsooutontheledge,dark-blondhairwavinginthebreeze,thehemofherskirtblowinguplikeaparachute.Eventhoughit’sJanuaryinIndiana,sheisshoelessintights,apairofbootsinherhand,andstaringeitheratherfeetorattheground—it’shardtotell.Sheseemsfrozeninplace.Inmyregular,nonpreachervoiceIsay,ascalmlyaspossible,“Takeitfrom

me,theworstthingyoucandoislookdown.”Veryslowly,sheturnsherheadtowardme,andIknowthisgirl,oratleast

I’veseenherinthehallways.Ican’tresist:“Comehereoften?BecausethisiskindofmyspotandIdon’trememberseeingyouherebefore.”Shedoesn’tlaughorblink,justgazesoutatmefrombehindtheseclunky

glassesthatalmostcoverherface.Shetriestotakeastepbackandherfootbumpstherailing.Sheteetersalittle,andbeforeshecanpanic,Isay,“Idon’tknowwhatbringsyouuphere,buttomethetownlooksprettierandthepeoplelooknicerandeventheworstofthemlookalmostkind.ExceptforGabeRomeroandAmandaMonkandthatwholecrowdyouhangoutwith.”

HernameisVioletSomething.Sheischeerleaderpopular—oneofthosegirlsyouwouldneverthinkofrunningintoonaledgesixstoriesabovetheground.Behindtheuglyglassesshe’spretty,almostlikeachinadoll.Largeeyes,sweetfaceshapedlikeaheart,amouththatwantstocurveintoaperfectlittlesmile.She’sagirlwhodatesguyslikeRyanCross,baseballstar,andsitswithAmandaMonkandtheotherqueenbeesatlunch.“Butlet’sfaceit,wedidn’tcomeupherefortheview.You’reViolet,right?”Sheblinksonce,andItakethisasayes.“TheodoreFinch.Ithinkwehadpre-caltogetherlastyear.”Sheblinksagain.“Ihatemath,butthat’snotwhyI’muphere.Nooffenseifthat’swhyyouare.

You’reprobablybetteratmaththanIam,becauseprettymucheveryone’sbetteratmaththanIam,butit’sokay,I’mfinewithit.See,Iexcelatother,moreimportantthings—guitar,sex,andconsistentlydisappointingmydad,tonameafew.Bytheway,it’sapparentlytruethatyou’llneveruseitintherealworld.Math,Imean.”Ikeeptalking,butIcantellI’mrunningoutofsteam.Ineedtotakeapiss,

foronething,andsomywordsaren’ttheonlythingtwitching.(Notetoself:Beforeattemptingtotakeownlife,remembertotakealeak.)And,two,it’sstartingtorain,which,inthistemperature,willprobablyturntosleetbeforeithitstheground.“It’sstartingtorain,”Isay,asifshedoesn’tknowthis.“Iguessthere’san

argumenttobemadethattherainwillwashawaytheblood,leavingusaneatermesstocleanupthanotherwise.Butit’sthemesspartthat’sgotmethinking.I’mnotavainperson,butIamhuman,andIdon’tknowaboutyou,butIdon’twanttolooklikeI’vebeenrunthroughthewoodchipperatmyfuneral.”She’sshiveringorshaking,Ican’ttellwhich,andsoIslowlyinchmyway

towardher,hopingIdon’tfalloffbeforeIgetthere,becausethelastthingIwanttodoismakeajackassoutofmyselfinfrontofthisgirl.“I’vemadeitclearIwantcremation,butmymomdoesn’tbelieveinit.”Andmydadwilldowhatevershesayssohewon’tupsetheranymorethanhealreadyhas,andbesides,You’refartooyoungtothinkaboutthis,youknowyourGrandmaFinchlivedtobeninety-eight,wedon’tneedtotalkaboutthatnow,Theodore,don’tupsetyourmother.“Soit’llbeanopencoffinforme,whichmeansifIjump,itain’tgonnabe

pretty.Besides,Ikindoflikemyfaceintactlikethis,twoeyes,onenose,onemouth,afullsetofteeth,which,ifI’mbeinghonest,isoneofmybetterfeatures.”IsmilesoshecanseewhatImean.Everythingwhereitshouldbe,ontheoutsideatleast.

Whenshedoesn’tsayanything,Igooninchingandtalking.“Mostofall,Ifeelbadfortheundertaker.Whatashittyjobthatmustbeanyway,butthentohavetodealwithanassholelikeme?”Fromdownbelow,someoneyells,“Violet?IsthatVioletupthere?”“OhGod,”shesays,solowIbarelyhearit.“OhGodohGodohGod.”The

windblowsherskirtandhair,anditlookslikeshe’sgoingtoflyaway.Thereisgeneralbuzzingfromtheground,andIshout,“Don’ttrytosave

me!You’llonlykillyourself!”ThenIsay,verylow,justtoher,“Here’swhatIthinkweshoulddo.”I’maboutafootawayfromhernow.“Iwantyoutothrowyourshoestowardthebellandthenholdontotherail,justgrabrightontoit,andonceyou’vegotit,leanagainstitandthenliftyourrightfootupandover.Gotthat?”Shenodsandalmostlosesherbalance.“Don’tnod.Andwhateveryoudo,don’tgothewrongwayandstepforward

insteadofback.I’llcountyouoff.Onthree.”Shethrowsherbootsinthedirectionofthebell,andtheyfallwithathud,

thudontotheconcrete.“One.Two.Three.”Shegripsthestoneandkindofpropsherselfagainstitandthenliftsherleg

upandoversothatshe’ssittingontherailing.ShestaresdownatthegroundandIcanseethatshe’sfrozenagain,andsoIsay,“Good.Great.Juststoplookingdown.”Sheslowlylooksatmeandthenreachesforthefloorofthebelltowerwith

herrightfoot,andonceshe’sfoundit,Isay,“Nowgetthatleftlegbackoverhoweveryoucan.Don’tletgoofthewall.”Bynowshe’sshakingsohardIcanhearherteethchatter,butIwatchasherleftfootjoinsherright,andsheissafe.Sonowit’sjustmeouthere.Igazedownatthegroundonelasttime,past

mysize-thirteenfeetthatwon’tstopgrowing—todayI’mwearingsneakerswithfluorescentlaces—pasttheopenwindowsofthefourthfloor,thethird,thesecond,pastAmandaMonk,whoiscacklingfromthefrontstepsandswishingherblondhairlikeapony,booksoverherhead,tryingtoflirtandprotectherselffromtherainatthesametime.Igazepastallofthisatthegrounditself,whichisnowslickanddamp,and

imaginemyselflyingthere.Icouldjuststepoff.Itwouldbeoverinseconds.Nomore“TheodoreFreak.”

Nomorehurt.Nomoreanything.Itrytogetpasttheunexpectedinterruptionofsavingalifeandreturntothe

businessathand.Foraminute,Icanfeelit:thesenseofpeaceasmymindgoes

quiet,likeI’malreadydead.Iamweightlessandfree.Nothingandnoonetofear,notevenmyself.Thenavoicefrombehindmesays,“Iwantyoutoholdontotherail,and

onceyou’vegotit,leanagainstitandliftyourrightfootupandover.”Likethat,Icanfeelthemomentpassing,maybealreadypassed,andnowit

seemslikeastupididea,exceptforpicturingthelookonAmanda’sfaceasIgosailingbyher.Ilaughatthethought.IlaughsohardIalmostfalloff,andthisscaresme—like,reallyscaresme—andIcatchmyselfandVioletcatchesmeasAmandalooksup.“Weirdo!”someoneshouts.Amanda’slittlegroupsnickers.Shecupsherbigmouthandaimsitsky-ward.“Youokay,V?”Violetleansovertherail,stillholdingontomylegs.“I’mokay.”Thedooratthetopofthetowerstairscracksopenandmybestfriend,

CharlieDonahue,appears.Charlieisblack.NotCWblack,butblack-black.HealsogetslaidmorethananyoneelseIknow.Hesays,“They’reservingpizzatoday,”asifIwasn’tstandingonaledgesix

storiesabovetheground,myarmsoutstretched,agirlwrappedaroundmyknees.“Whydon’tyougoaheadandgetitoverwith,freak?”GabeRomero,better

knownasRoamer,betterknownasDumbass,yellsfrombelow.Morelaughter.BecauseI’vegotadatewithyourmotherlater,Ithinkbutdon’tsaybecause,

let’sfaceit,it’slame,andalsohewillcomeuphereandbeatmyfaceinandthenthrowmeoff,andthisdefeatsthepointofjustdoingitmyself.InsteadIshout,“Thanksforsavingme,Violet.Idon’tknowwhatIwould’ve

doneifyouhadn’tcomealong.IguessI’dbedeadrightnow.”ThelastfaceIseebelowbelongstomyschoolcounselor,Mr.Embry.Ashe

glaresupatme,Ithink,Great.Justgreat.IletViolethelpmeoverthewallandontotheconcrete.Fromdownbelow,

there’sasmatteringofapplause,notforme,butforViolet,thehero.Upcloselikethis,Icanseethatherskinissmoothandclearexceptfortwofrecklesonherrightcheek,andhereyesareagray-greenthatmakesmethinkoffall.It’stheeyesthatgetme.Theyarelargeandarresting,asifsheseeseverything.Aswarmastheyare,theyarebusy,no-bullshiteyes,thekindthatcanlookrightintoyou,whichIcantelleventhroughtheglasses.She’sprettyandtall,butnottootall,withlong,restlesslegsandcurvyhips,whichIlikeonagirl.Toomanyhighschoolgirlsarebuiltlikeboys.“Iwasjustsittingthere,”shesays.“Ontherailing.Ididn’tcomeuphereto

—”“Letmeaskyousomething.Doyouthinkthere’ssuchathingasaperfect

day?”

“What?”“Aperfectday.Starttofinish.Whennothingterribleorsadorordinary

happens.Doyouthinkit’spossible?”“Idon’tknow.”“Haveyoueverhadone?”“No.”“I’veneverhadoneeither,butI’mlookingforit.”Shewhispers,“Thankyou,TheodoreFinch.”Shereachesupandkissesme

onthecheek,andIcansmellhershampoo,whichremindsmeofflowers.Shesaysintomyear,“Ifyouevertellanyoneaboutthis,I’llkillyou.”Carryingherboots,shehurriesawayandoutoftherain,backthroughthedoorthatleadstotheflightofdarkandricketystairsthattakesyoudowntooneofthemanytoo-brightandtoo-crowdedschoolhallways.Charliewatcheshergoand,asthedoorswingsclosedbehindher,heturns

backtome.“Man,whydoyoudothat?”“Becauseweallhavetodiesomeday.Ijustwanttobeprepared.”Thisisn’t

thereason,ofcourse,butitwillbeenoughforhim.Thetruthis,therearealotofreasons,mostofwhichchangedaily,likethethirteenfourthgraderskilledearlierthisweekwhensomeSOBopenedfireintheirschoolgym,orthegirltwoyearsbehindmewhojustdiedofcancer,orthemanIsawoutsidetheMallCinemakickinghisdog,ormyfather.Charliemaythinkit,butatleasthedoesn’tsay“Weirdo,”whichiswhyhe’s

mybestfriend.OtherthanthefactthatIappreciatethisabouthim,wedon’thavemuchincommon.

Technically,I’monprobationthisyear.Thisisduetoasmallmatterinvolvingadeskandachalkboard.(Fortherecord,replacingachalkboardismoreexpensivethanyoumightthink.)It’salsoduetoaguitar-smashingincidentduringassembly,anillegaluseoffireworks,andmaybeafightortwo.Asaresult,I’veagreedinvoluntarilytothefollowing:weeklycounseling;maintainingahighBaverage;andparticipationinatleastoneextracurricular.IchosemacramébecauseI’mtheonlyguywithtwentysemihotgirls,whichIthoughtwasprettygoododdsforme.Ialsohavetobehavemyself,playwellwithothers,refrainfromthrowingdesks,aswellasrefrainfromany“violentphysicalaltercations.”AndImustalways,always,whateverIdo,holdmytongue,becausenotdoingso,apparently,ishowtroublestarts.IfIf---anythingupfromhereonout,it’sexpulsionforme.Insidethecounselingoffice,Icheckinwiththesecretaryandtakeaseatin

oneofthehardwoodenchairsuntilMr.Embryisreadyforme.IfIknow

Embryo—asIcallhimtomyself—likeIknowEmbryo,he’llwanttoknowjustwhatthehellIwasdoinginthebelltower.IfI’mlucky,wewon’thavetimetocovermuchmorethanthat.Inafewminuteshewavesmein,ashort,thickmanbuiltlikeabull.Ashe

shutsthedoor,hedropsthesmile.Hesitsdown,hunchesoverhisdesk,andfixeshiseyesonmelikeI’masuspectheneedstocrack.“Whatinthehellwereyoudoinginthebelltower?”ThethingIlikeaboutEmbryoisthatnotonlyishepredictable,hegetstothe

point.I’veknownhimsincesophomoreyear.“Iwantedtoseetheview.”“Wereyouplanningtojumpoff?”“Notonpizzaday.Neveronpizzaday,whichisoneofthebetterdaysofthe

week.”IshouldmentionthatIamabrilliantdeflector.SobrilliantthatIcouldgetafullscholarshiptocollegeandmajorinit,exceptwhybother?I’vealreadymasteredtheart.IwaitforhimtoaskaboutViolet,butinsteadhesays,“Ineedtoknowifyou

wereorareplanningtoharmyourself.Iamgoddamnserious.IfPrincipalWertzhearsaboutthis,you’regonebeforeyoucansay‘suspended,’orworse.NottomentionifIdon’tpayattentionandyoudecidetogobackupthereandjumpoff,I’mlookingatalawsuit,andonthesalarytheypayme,believemewhenIsayIdonothavethemoneytobesued.ThisholdstruewhetheryoujumpoffthebelltowerorthePurinaTower,whetherit’sschoolpropertyornot.”IstrokemychinlikeI’mdeepinthought.“ThePurinaTower.Nowthere’s

anidea.”Hedoesn’tbudgeexcepttosquintatme.LikemostpeopleintheMidwest,

Embryodoesn’tbelieveinhumor,especiallywhenitpertainstosensitivesubjects.“Notfunny,Mr.Finch.Thisisnotajokingmatter.”“No,sir.Sorry.”“Thethingsuicidesdon’tfocusonistheirwake.Notjustyourparentsand

siblings,butyourfriends,yourgirlfriends,yourclassmates,yourteachers.”IlikethewayheseemstothinkIhavemany,manypeopledependingonme,includingnotjustonebutmultiplegirlfriends.“Iwasjustmessingaround.Iagreeitwasprobablynotthebestwaytospend

firstperiod.”Hepicksupafileandthumpsitdowninfrontofhimandstartsflipping

throughit.Iwaitashereads,andthenhelooksatmeagain.Iwonderifhe’scountingthedaystillsummer.

Hestands,justlikeacoponTV,andwalksaroundhisdeskuntilhe’sloomingoverme.Heleansagainstit,armsfolded,andIlookpasthim,searchingforthehiddentwo-waymirror.“DoIneedtocallyourmother?”“No.Andagainno.”Andagain:nonono.“Look,itwasastupidthingtodo.

Ijustwantedtoseewhatitfeltliketostandthereandlookdown.Iwouldneverjumpfromthebelltower.”“Ifithappensagain,ifyousomuchasthinkaboutitagain,Icallher.And

you’regoingtodoadrugtest.”“Iappreciateyourconcern,sir.”Itrytosoundmymostsincere,becausethe

lastthingIwantisabigger,brighterspotlightdirectedatme,followingmethroughoutthehallsofschool,throughouttheotherpartsofmylife,suchastheyare.Andthethingis,IactuallylikeEmbryo.“Asforthewholedrugthing,there’snoneedtowasteprecioustime.Really.Unlesscigarettescount.Drugsandme?Notagoodmix.Believeme,I’vetried.”Ifoldmyhandslikeagoodboy.“Asforthewholebelltowerthing,eventhoughitwasn’tatallwhatyouthink,Icanstillpromisethatitwon’thappenagain.”“That’sright—itwon’t.Iwantyouheretwiceaweekinsteadofonce.You

comeinMondayandFridayandtalktome,justsoIcanseehowyou’redoing.”“I’mhappyto,sir—Imean,I,like,reallyenjoytheseconversationsofours

—butI’mgood.”“It’snonnegotiable.Nowlet’sdiscusstheendoflastsemester.Youmissed

four,almostfive,weeksofschool.Yourmothersaysyouweresickwiththeflu.”He’sactuallytalkingaboutmysisterKate,buthedoesn’tknowthat.Shewas

theonewhocalledtheschoolwhileIwasout,becauseMomhasenoughtoworryabout.“Ifthat’swhatshesays,whoarewetoargue?”Thefactis,Iwassick,butnotinaneasilyexplainedflukindofway.It’smy

experiencethatpeoplearealotmoresympatheticiftheycanseeyouhurting,andforthemillionthtimeinmylifeIwishformeaslesorsmallpoxorsomeotherrecognizablediseasejusttomakeitsimpleformeandalsoforthem.Anythingwouldbebetterthanthetruth:Ishutdownagain.Iwentblank.OneminuteIwasspinning,andthenextminutemymindwasdraggingitselfaroundinacircle,likeanold,arthriticdogtryingtoliedown.AndthenIjustturnedoffandwenttosleep,butnotsleepinthewayyoudoeverynight.Thinkalong,darksleepwhereyoudon’tdreamatall.

Embryoonceagainnarrowshiseyestoasquintandstaresatmehard,tryingtoinduceasweat.“Andcanweexpectyoutoshowupandstayoutoftroublethissemester?”“Absolutely.”“Andkeepupwithyourclasswork?”“Yes,sir.”“I’llarrangethedrugtestwiththenurse.”Hejabstheairwithhisfinger,

pointingatme.“Probationmeans‘periodoftestingsomebody’ssuitability;periodwhenstudentmustimprove.’Lookitupifyoudon’tbelieveme,andforChrist’ssake,stayalive.”ThethingIdon’tsayis:Iwanttostayalive.ThereasonIdon’tsayitis

because,giventhatfatfolderinfrontofhim,he’dneverbelieveit.Andhere’ssomethingelsehe’dneverbelieve—I’mfightingtobehereinthisshitty,messed-upworld.Standingontheledgeofthebelltowerisn’taboutdying.It’sabouthavingcontrol.It’saboutnevergoingtosleepagain.Embryostalksaroundhisdeskandgathersastackof“TeensinTrouble”

pamphlets.ThenhetellsmeI’mnotaloneandIcanalwaystalktohim,hisdoorisopen,he’shere,andhe’llseemeonMonday.Iwanttosaynooffense,butthat’snotmuchofacomfort.Instead,Ithankhimbecauseofthedarkcirclesunderhiseyesandthesmoker ’slinesetchedaroundhismouth.He’llprobablylightupacigaretteassoonasIgo.Itakeaheapingpileofpamphletsandleavehimtoit.HeneveroncementionedViolet,andI’mrelieved.

Violet154daystillgraduation

Fridaymorning.OfficeofMrs.MarionKresney,schoolcounselor,whohassmall,kindeyesandasmiletoobigforherface.Accordingtothecertificateonthewallaboveherhead,she’sbeenatBartlettHighforfifteenyears.Thisisourtwelfthmeeting.Myheartisstillracingandmyhandsarestillshakingfrombeinguponthat

ledge.Ihavegonecoldallover,andwhatIwantistoliedown.IwaitforMrs.Kresneytosay:Iknowwhatyouweredoingfirstperiod,VioletMarkey.Yourparentsareontheirway.Doctorsarestandingby,readytoescortyoutothenearestmentalhealthfacility.Butwestartaswealwaysdo.“Howareyou,Violet?”“I’mfine,andyou?”Isitonmyhands.“I’mfine.Let’stalkaboutyou.Iwanttoknowhowyou’refeeling.”“I’mgood.”Justbecauseshehasn’tbroughtitupdoesnotmeanshedoesn’t

know.Shealmostneverasksanythingdirectly.“Howareyousleeping?”Thenightmaresstartedamonthaftertheaccident.Sheasksaboutthemevery

timeIseeher,becauseImadethemistakeofmentioningthemtomymom,whomentionedthemtoher.ThisisoneofthemainreasonswhyI’mhereandwhyI’vestoppedtellingmymomanything.“I’msleepingfine.”ThethingaboutMrs.Kresneyisthatshealways,alwayssmiles,nomatter

what.Ilikethisabouther.“Anybaddreams?”“No.”Iusedtowritethemdown,butIdon’tanymore.Icanremembereverydetail.

LikethisoneIhadfourweeksagowhereIwasliterallymeltingaway.Inthedream,mydadsaid,“You’vecometotheend,Violet.You’vereachedyourlimit.Weallhavethem,andyoursisnow.”ButIdon’twantittobe.Iwatchedasmyfeetturnedintopuddlesanddisappeared.Nextweremyhands.Itdidn’t

hurt,andIrememberthinking:Ishouldn’tmindthisbecausethereisn’tanypain.It’sjustaslippingaway.ButIdidmindas,limbbylimb,therestofmewentinvisiblebeforeIwokeup.Mrs.Kresneyshiftsinherchair,hersmilefixedonherface.Iwonderifshe

smilesinhersleep.“Let’stalkaboutcollege.”Thistimelastyear,Iwouldhavelovedtotalkaboutcollege.EleanorandI

usedtodothissometimesafterMomandDadhadgonetobed.We’dsitoutsideifitwaswarmenough,insideifitwastoocold.Weimaginedtheplaceswewouldgoandthepeoplewewouldmeet,farawayfromBartlett,Indiana,population14,983,wherewefeltlikealiensfromsomedistantplanet.“You’veappliedtoUCLA,Stanford,Berkeley,theUniversityofFlorida,the

UniversityofBuenosAires,NorthernCaribbeanUniversity,andtheNationalUniversityofSingapore.Thisisaverydiverselist,butwhathappenedtoNYU?”Sincethesummerbeforeseventhgrade,NYU’screativewritingprogram

hasbeenmydream.ThisisthankstovisitingNewYorkwithmymother,whoisacollegeprofessorandwriter.ShedidhergraduateworkatNYU,andforthreeweeksthefourofusstayedinthecityandsocializedwithherformerteachersandclassmates—novelists,playwrights,screenwriters,poets.MyplanwastoapplyforearlyadmissioninOctober.ButthentheaccidenthappenedandIchangedmymind.“Imissedtheapplicationdeadline.”Thedeadlineforregularadmissionwas

oneweekagotoday.Ifilledeverythingout,evenwrotemyessay,butdidn’tsenditin.“Let’stalkaboutthewriting.Let’stalkaboutthewebsite.”ShemeansEleanorandViolet.com.EleanorandIstarteditafterwemovedto

Indiana.Wewantedtocreateanonlinemagazinethatofferedtwo(very)differentperspectivesonfashion,beauty,boys,books,life.Lastyear,Eleanor ’sfriendGemmaSterling(starofthehitWebseriesRant)mentionedusinaninterview,andourfollowingtripled.ButIhaven’ttouchedthesitesinceEleanordied,becausewhatwouldbethepoint?Itwasasiteaboutsisters.Besides,inthatinstantwewentplowingthroughtheguardrail,mywordsdiedtoo.“Idon’twanttotalkaboutthewebsite.”“Ibelieveyourmotherisanauthor.Shemustbeveryhelpfulingiving

advice.”“JessamynWestsaid,‘Writingissodifficultthatwriters,havinghadtheir

hellonearth,willescapeallpunishmenthereafter.’”

Shelightsupatthis.“Doyoufeelyou’rebeingpunished?”Sheistalkingabouttheaccident.Ormaybesheisreferringtobeinghereinthisoffice,thisschool,thistown.“No.”DoIfeelIshouldbepunished?Yes.WhyelsewouldIhavegiven

myselfbangs?“Doyoubelieveyou’reresponsibleforwhathappened?”Itugonthebangsnow.Theyarelopsided.“No.”Shesitsback.Hersmileslipsafractionofaninch.WebothknowI’mlying.

IwonderwhatshewouldsayifItoldherthatanhouragoIwasbeingtalkedofftheledgeofthebelltower.Bynow,I’mprettysureshedoesn’tknow.“Haveyoudrivenyet?”“No.”“Haveyouallowedyourselftorideinthecarwithyourparents?”“No.”“Buttheywantyouto.”Thisisn’taquestion.Shesaysthislikeshe’stalkedto

oneorbothofthem,whichsheprobablyhas.“I’mnotready.”Thesearethethreemagicwords.I’vediscoveredtheycan

getyououtofalmostanything.Sheleansforward.“Haveyouthoughtaboutreturningtocheerleading?”“No.”“Studentcouncil?”“No.”“Youstillplayfluteintheorchestra?”“I’mlastchair.”That’ssomethingthathasn’tchangedsincetheaccident.I

wasalwayslastchairbecauseI’mnotverygoodatflute.Shesitsbackagain.ForamomentIthinkshe’sgivenup.Thenshesays,“I’m

concernedaboutyourprogress,Violet.Frankly,youshouldbefurtheralongthanyouarerightnow.Youcan’tavoidcarsforever,especiallynowthatwe’reinwinter.Youcan’tkeepstandingstill.Youneedtorememberthatyou’reasurvivor,andthatmeans…”IwillneverknowwhatthatmeansbecauseassoonasIheartheword

“survivor,”Igetupandwalkout.

Onmywaytofourthperiod.Schoolhallway.Atleastfifteenpeople—someIknow,someIdon’t,somewhohaven’ttalked

tomeinmonths—stopmeonmywaytoclasstotellmehowcourageousIwastosaveTheodoreFinchfromkillinghimself.Oneofthegirlsfromtheschoolpaperwantstodoaninterview.

OfallthepeopleIcouldhave“saved,”TheodoreFinchistheworstpossiblechoicebecausehe’saBartlettlegend.Idon’tknowhimthatwell,butIknowofhim.Everyoneknowsofhim.Somepeoplehatehimbecausetheythinkhe’sweirdandhegetsintofightsandgetskickedoutofschoolanddoeswhathewants.Somepeopleworshiphimbecausehe’sweirdandhegetsintofightsandgetskickedoutofschoolanddoeswhathewants.Heplaysguitarinfiveorsixdifferentbands,andlastyearhecutarecord.Buthe’skindof…extreme.Likehecametoschoolonedaypaintedhead-to-toered,anditwasn’tevenSpiritWeek.Hetoldsomepeoplehewasprotestingracismandothershewasprotestingtheconsumptionofmeat.Junioryearheworeacapeeverydayforanentiremonth,crackedachalkboardinhalfwithadesk,andstoleallthedissectingfrogsfromthesciencewingandgavethemafuneralbeforeburyingtheminthebaseballfield.ThegreatAnnaFarisoncesaidthatthesecretofsurvivinghighschoolisto“laylow.”Finchdoestheoppositeofthis.I’mfiveminuteslatetoRussianliterature,whereMrs.Mahoneandherwig

assignusaten-pagepaperonTheBrothersKaramazov.Groansfollowfromeveryonebutme,becausenomatterwhatMrs.Kresneyseemstothink,IhaveExtenuatingCircumstances.Idon’tevenlistenasMrs.Mahonegoesoverwhatshewants.InsteadIpickat

athreadonmyskirt.Ihaveaheadache.Probablyfromtheglasses.Eleanor ’seyeswereworsethanmine.Itaketheglassesoffandsetthemonthedesk.Theywerestylishonher.They’reuglyonme.Especiallywiththebangs.Butmaybe,ifIweartheglasseslongenough,Icanbelikeher.Icanseewhatshesaw.Icanbebothofusatoncesonoonewillhavetomissher,mostofallme.Thethingis,therearegooddaysandbaddays.Ifeelalmostguiltysaying

theyaren’tallbad.Somethingcatchesmeoffguard—aTVshow,afunnyone-linerfrommydad,acommentinclass—andIlaughlikenothingeverhappened.Ifeelnormalagain,whateverthatis.SomemorningsIwakeupandIsingwhileI’mgettingready.OrmaybeIturnupthemusicanddance.Onmostdays,Iwalktoschool.OtherdaysItakemybike,andeverynowandthenmymindtricksmeintothinkingI’mjustaregulargirloutforaride.EmilyWardpokesmeinthebackandhandsmeanote.BecauseMrs.

Mahonecollectsourphonesatthestartofeveryclass,it’stheold-fashionedkind,writtenonnotebookpaper.IsittrueyousavedFinchfromkillinghimself?xRyan.Thereisonlyone

Ryaninthisroom—somewouldarguethere’sonlyoneRyaninthewholeschool,maybeeventheworld—andthat’sRyanCross.Ilookupandcatchhiseye,tworowsover.Heistoogood-looking.Broad

shoulders,warmgold-brownhair,greeneyes,andenoughfrecklestomake

himseemapproachable.UntilDecember,hewasmyboyfriend,butnowwe’retakingabreak.Iletthenotesitonmydeskforfiveminutesbeforeansweringit.Finally,I

write:Ijusthappenedtobethere.xV.Lessthanaminutelater,it’spassedbacktome,butthistimeIdon’topenit.IthinkofhowmanygirlswouldlovetoreceiveanotelikethisfromRyanCross.TheVioletMarkeyoflastspringwouldhavebeenoneofthem.Whenthebellrings,Ihangback.Ryanlingersforaminute,waitingtosee

whatIdo,butwhenIjustsitthere,hecollectshisphoneandgoeson.Mrs.Mahonesays,“Yes,Violet?”Tenpagesusedtobenobigdeal.AteacherwouldaskfortenandIwould

writetwenty.Iftheywantedtwenty,I’dgivethemthirty.WritingwaswhatIdidbest,betterthanbeingadaughterorgirlfriendorsister.Writingwasme.ButnowwritingisoneofthethingsIcan’tdo.Ibarelyhavetosayanything,noteven“I’mnotready.”It’sintheunwritten

rulebookoflife,underHowtoReactWhenaStudentLosesaLovedOneandIs,NineMonthsLater,StillHavingaVeryHardTime.Mrs.Mahonesighsandhandsmemyphone.“Givemeapageora

paragraph,Violet.Justdoyourbest.”MyExtenuatingCircumstancessavetheday.Outsidetheclassroom,Ryaniswaiting.Icanseehimtryingtofigureoutthe

puzzlesohecanputmebacktogetheragainandturnmeintothefungirlfriendheusedtoknow.Hesays,“Youlookreallyprettytoday.”Heisniceenoughnottostareatmyhair.“Thanks.”OverRyan’sshoulder,IseeTheodoreFinchstruttingby.Henodsatmelike

heknowssomethingIdon’t,andhekeepsongoing.

FinchDay6(still)ofbeingawake

Bylunch,it’salloverschoolthatVioletMarkeysavedTheodoreFinchfromjumpingoffthebelltower.OnmywaytoU.S.Geography,Iwalkbehindagroupofgirlsinthehallwaywhoaregoingonandonaboutit,noideathatI’mtheoneandonlyTheodoreFinch.Theytalkovereachotherinthesehighvoicesthatalwaysendinquestion

marks,sothatitsoundslikeIheardhehadagun?Iheardshehadtowrestleitoutofhishands?MycousinStacey,whogoestoNewCastle,sayssheandafriendwereinChicagoandhewasplayingthisclubandhetotallyhookedupwithbothofthem?Well,mybrotherwastherewhenhesetoffthefirecrackers,andhesaidbeforethepolicetookhimaway,hewasall“Unlessyouwanttoreimburseme,I’llwaitforthefinale”?Apparently,I’mtragicanddangerous.Ohyeah,Ithink.That’sright.Iam

hereandnowandnotjustawake,butAwake,andeveryonecanjustdealwithitbecauseIamthesecondfreakin’coming.Ileaninandsaytothem,“Iheardhediditoveragirl,”andthenIswaggerallthewaytoclass.Insidetheclassroom,Itakemyseat,feelinginfamousandinvincibleand

twitchyandstrangelyexhilarated,asifIjustescaped,well,death.Ilookaround,butnooneispayinganyattentiontomeorMr.Black,ourteacher,whoisliterallythelargestmanIhaveeverseen.Hehasared,redfacethatalwaysmakeshimlooklikehe’sonthevergeofheatstrokeoraheartattack,andhewheezeswhenhetalks.ThewholetimeI’vebeeninIndiana,whichisallmylife—thepurgatory

years,Icallthem—we’veapparentlylivedjustelevenmilesawayfromthehighestpointinthestate.Nooneevertoldme,notmyparentsormysistersormyteachers,untilnow,rightthisminute,inthe“WanderIndiana”sectionofU.S.Geography—theonethatwasimplementedbytheschoolboardthisyearinaneffortto“enlightenstudentsastotherichhistoryavailableintheirownhomestateandinspireHoosierpride.”Nojoke.

Mr.Blacksettlesintohischairandclearshisthroat.“Whatbetterandmore…appropriatewaytostartoff…thesemesterthanbybeginning…withthehighestpoint?”Becauseofthewheezing,it’shardtotellifMr.Blackisallthatimpressedbytheinformationhe’srelaying.“HoosierHillis…1,257feetabovesealevel…andit’sinthebackyard…ofafamilyhome.…In2005,anEagle…ScoutfromKentucky…gotpermissionto…buildatrailandpicnicarea…andputupasign.…”Iraisemyhand,whichMr.Blackignores.Ashetalks,Ileavemyhandintheairandthink,WhatifIwentthereand

stoodonthatpoint?Wouldthingslookdifferentfrom1,257feet?Itdoesn’tseemveryhigh,butthey’reproudofit,andwhoamItosay1,257feetisn’tsomethingtobeimpressedby?Finally,henodsatme,hislipssotight,itlookslikehe’sswallowedthem.

“Yes,Mr.Finch?”Hesighsthesighofaone-hundred-year-oldmanandgivesmeanapprehensive,distrustfullook.“Isuggestafieldtrip.WeneedtoseethewondroussightsofIndianawhile

westillcan,becauseatleastthreeofusinthisroomaregoingtograduateandleaveourgreatstateattheendofthisyear,andwhatwillwehavetoshowforitexceptasubparpublicschooleducationfromoneoftheworstschoolsystemsinthenation?Besides,aplacelikethisisgoingtobehardtotakeinunlessweseeit.KindofliketheGrandCanyonorYosemite.Youneedtobetheretoreallyappreciateitssplendor.”I’monlybeingabouttwentypercentsarcastic,butMr.Blacksays,“Thank

you,Mr.Finch,”inawaythatmeansthedirectoppositeofthankyou.Istartdrawinghillsonmynotebookintributetoourstate’shighestpoint,buttheylookmorelikeformlesslumpsorairbornesnakes—Ican’tdecide.“Theodoreiscorrectthatsome…ofyouwillleave…hereattheendof…

thisschoolyeartogo…somewhereelse.You’llbedepartingour…greatstate,andbefore…youdo,youshould…seeit.Youshould…wander.…”Anoisefromacrosstheroominterruptshim.Someonehascomeinlateand

droppedabookandthen,inpickingupthebook,hasupsetallherotherbookssothateverythinghasgonetumbling.Thisisfollowedbylaughterbecausewe’reinhighschool,whichmeanswe’repredictableandalmostanythingisfunny,especiallyifit’ssomeoneelse’spublichumiliation.ThegirlwhodroppedeverythingisVioletMarkey,thesameVioletMarkeyfromthebelltower.SheturnsbeetredandIcantellshewantstodie.Notinajumping-from-a-great-heightkindofway,butmorealongthelinesofPlease,earth,swallowmewhole.

IknowthisfeelingbetterthanIknowmymomormysistersorCharlieDonahue.ThisfeelingandIhavebeentogetherallmylife.LikethetimeIgavemyselfaconcussionduringkick-ballinfrontofSuzeHaines;orthetimeIlaughedsohardthatsomethingflewoutofmynoseandlandedonGabeRomero;ortheentireeighthgrade.Andso,becauseI’musedtoitandbecausethisVioletgirlisaboutthree

droppedpencilsawayfromcrying,Iknockoneofmyownbooksontothefloor.Alleyesshifttome.Ibendtopickitupandpurposelysendtheothersflying—boomerangingintowalls,windows,heads—andjustforgoodmeasure,ItiltmychairoversoIgocrashing.Thisisfollowedbysnickersandapplauseanda“freak”ortwo,andMr.Blackwheezing,“Ifyou’redone…Theodore…I’dliketocontinue.”Irightmyself,rightthechair,takeabow,collectmybooks,bowagain,

settlein,andsmileatViolet,whoislookingatmewithwhatcanonlybedescribedassurpriseandreliefandsomethingelse—worry,maybe.I’dliketothinkthere’salittlelustmixedintoo,butthatcouldbewishfulthinking.ThesmileIgiveheristhebestsmileIhave,theonethatmakesmymotherforgivemeforstayingouttoolateorforjustgenerallybeingweird.(Othertimes,Iseemymomlookingatme—whenshelooksatmeatall—likeshe’sthinking:Whereinthehelldidyoucomefrom?Youmustgetitfromyourfather’sside.)Violetsmilesback.Immediately,Ifeelbetter,becauseshefeelsbetterand

becauseofthewayshesmilesatme,asifI’mnotsomethingtobeavoided.ThismakestwiceinonedaythatI’vesavedher.TenderheartedTheodore,mymotheralwayssays.Tootenderheartedforhisowngood.It’smeantasacriticismandItakeitasone.Mr.BlackfixeshiseyesonVioletandthenme.“AsIwassaying…your

projectforthis…classistoreporton…atleasttwo,preferablythree…wondersofIndiana.”Iwanttoask,Wondersorwanders?ButI’mbusywatchingVioletassheconcentratesonthechalkboard,thecornerofhermouthstillturnedup.Mr.Blackgoesonabouthowhewantsustofeelfreetochoosetheplaces

thatstrikeourfancy,nomatterhowobscureorfaraway.Ourmissionistogothereandseeeachone,takepictures,shootvideo,delvedeepintotheirhistory,andtellhimjustwhatitisabouttheseplacesthatmakesusproudtobeaHoosier.Ifit’spossibletolinktheminsomeway,allthebetter.Wehavetherestofthesemestertocompletetheproject,andweneedtotakeitseriously.“Youwillwork…inteamsof…two.Thiswillcount…forthirty-five

percent…ofyourfinalgrade.…”Iraisemyhandagain.“Canwechooseourpartners?”

“Yes.”“IchooseVioletMarkey.”

THEBEGINNING

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FirstpublishedintheUSAbyAlfredA.Knopf,animprintofRandomHouseChildren’sBooks,andinGreatBritainbyPenguinBooks2016

Textcopyright©JenniferNiven,2016

GratefulacknowledgmentismadetoJackRobinsonforpermissiontoreprintlinesfrom“ILovetoLove(ButMyBabyJustLovestoDance)”,wordsbyJackRobinson,musicbyJamesBolden.UsedbypermissionofRobinSongMusicSARLandROBAMusicPublishing.

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DesignbyDavidDrummondCoverartcopyright©Shutterstock,2016

ISBN:978-0-141-35706-5