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He Shook His Head. "some People Think That They Like Music, But They Have No Idea What It's Really About. They're Kindding Themselves. Then There Are People Who Feel Strongly About Music, But Just Aren't Listening To The Right Stuff. They're Misguided. And Then There Are People Like Me." "people Like You," I Said. "what Kind Of People Are Those?" "the Kind Who Live For Music And Are Constantly Seeking It Out, Anywhere They Can. Who Can't Imagine A Life Without It. They're Enlightened."

-Sarah Dessen

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He Shook His Head.

Sarah Dessen

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He Shook His Head. "some People Think That They Like Music, But They Have No Idea What It's Really About. They're Kindding Themselves. Then There Are People Who Feel Strongly About Music, But Just Aren't Listening To The Right Stuff. They're Misguided. And Then There Are People Like Me." "people Like You," I Said. "what Kind Of People Are Those?" "the Kind Who Live For Music And Are Constantly Seeking It Out, Anywhere They Can. Who Can't Imagine A Life Without It. They're Enlightened."

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Once, She'd Been A Pro At Decompressing, Loved To Sit On The Back Deck Of The Beach House In One Of Our Splintery Adirondack Chairs For Hours At A Time, Staring At The Ocean. She Never Had A Book Or The Paper Or Anything Else To Distract Her. Just The Horizon, But It Kept Her Attention, Her Gaze Unwavering. Maybe It Was The Absence Of Thought That She Loved About Being Out There, The World Narrowing To Just The Pounding Of The Waves As The Water Moved In And Out.

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I Eased Back On My Elbows, Tilting My Head Back To Look Up At The Sky, Which Was Pinkish, Streaked With Red. This Was The Time We Knew Best, That Stretch Of Day Going From Dusk To Dark. It Seemed Like We Were Always Waiting For Nighttime Here. I Could Feel The Trampoline Easing Up And Down, Moved By Our Own Breathing, Bringing Us In Small Increments Up And Back From The Sky As The Colors Faded, Slowly, And The Stars Began To Show Themselves.

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We Sat There, Not Talking, For A Few Minutes. He Ate The Moon Pie; Only Skinny People Can Scarf Down Junk Food Like That. Finally, I Said, "norman?" "yeah?" "are You Ever Going To Show Me The Painting?" "man," He Said. "you Are, Like, So Impatient." "i Am Not," I Said. "i've Been Waiting Forever." "okay, Okay." He Stood Up And Went Over To The Corner, Picking Up The Painting And Bringing It Over To Rest Against The Bright Pink Belly Of One Of The Mannequins. Then, He Handed Me A Bandana. "tie That On.

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I Always Thought I Was Different.

Quiet And Incredible. I Really Envy That.

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Because The Truth Sometimes Hurts," I Said. Yeah," He Said. "so Do Lies, Though.

I'd Seen Another Shade Of Him, And If It Had Been Light Where We Were Now, He'd Have Seen The Same Of Me. So I Was Grateful, As I Had Been So Often In My Life, For The Dark.

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Better Late Than Never

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It's Always Very Pure, That Last Moment Before An Ugly, Unsettling Truth Hits Someone. The Most Stark Of Before-and-afters.

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And I Felt A Sudden Whirl In My Head, Knowing This Leap Was Inevitable, That I Wasn't Just Standing On The Cliff, Toes Poking Over, But Already In Mid-air.

But Accepting Help Doesn‟t Have To Mean Giving Up Control.

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So You Should Remember That, When You're Thinking About What Other People Can Deal With. Maybe It's Not So Bad.

I Realized How Truly Hard It Was, Really, To See Someone You Love Change Right Before Your Eyes. Not Only Is It Scary, It Throws Your Balance Off As Well.

If Something Doesn't Work Exactly Right, Or Maybe Needs Some Special Treatment, You Don't Just Throw It Away. Everything Can't Be Fully Operational All The Time. Sometimes, We Need To Have The Patience To Give Something The Little Nudge It Needs.

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It's Okay To Accept Things From People. It Doesn't Make You Weak Or Helpless.

It's Hard To Be Nice When The Rest Of The World Is So Mean.

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The Silence Wasn't Like The Ones I'd Known Lately, Though: It Wasn't Empty As Much As Chosen. There's A Entirely Different Feel To Quiet When You're With Some-one Else, And At Any Moment It Could Be Broken. Like The Difference Between A Pause And An Ending.

I Just Stood There, Looking At Her. My Head Was Spinning, My Mouth Dry, And All I Could Think About Was That I Wanted To Go Someplace Safe, Someplace I Could Be Alone And Okay, And That This Was Impossible. My Old Life Had Changed And My New One Was Still In Progress, Altering By The Second. There Was Nothing, Nothing To Depend On. And Why Was I Surprised?

Everything, In The End, Comes Down To Timing. One Second, One Minute, One Hour Could Make All The Difference.

It’s Funny How One Summer Can Change Everything.

It Doesn't Matter, Anyway, Why You Like Me. Just That You Do.

That Was The Thing About Being Alone, In Theory Or In Principle. Whatever Happened - Good, Bad, Or Anywhere In Between - It Was Always, If Nothing Else, All Your Own.

One Word," Ted Replied, Dead Serious, "can Change The Whole World." There Was A Moment While We All Considered This. Finally Lissa Said To Chloe, Loud Enough For All Of Us To Hear (she'd Had A Minibottle Or Two Herself), "i Bet He Did Really Well On His Sats.

Silence Is So Freaking Loud

Its Been A Long Night" "aren't They All?

It Was As Familiar To Me As A Song I'd Been Hearing My Whole Life, Covered By Various People But The Basic Tune The Same.

We Can All Be Beautiful Girls.

I'd Heard Of Evergreen Care Center Before. Cass And I Had Always Made Fun Of The Stupid Ads They Ran On Tv, Featuring Some Dragged-out Woman With A Limp Perm And Big, Painted-on Circles Under Her Eyes, Downing Vodka And Sobbing Uncontrollably. "we Can't Heal You At Evergreen", The Very Somber Voiceover Said. "but We Can Help You To Heal Yourself." It Had Become Our Own Running Joke, Applicable To Almost Anything. "hey Cass, "i'd Say, "hand Me That Toothpaste." "caitlin," She'd Say, Her Voice Dark And Serious. "i Can't Hand You The Toothpaste. But I Can Help You Hand The Toothpaste To Yourself.

It Was Like When You Ripped A Piece Of Paper Into Two: No Matter How You Tried, The Seams Never Fit Exactly Right Again.

So I Just Decided To Relax Into It, Bumpy And Crazy As It Might Be, And Try For Once To Just Go Along For The Ride.

Once She'd Loved My Filet Mignon, My Carnivore Inklings, But Now She Was A Vegan Princess, Living Off Of Beans. She'd Given Up The Cheese And Bacon, Sworn Off Burger King, And When I Wouldn't Do The Same She Gave Me Back My Ring. I Stood There By The Romaine Lettuce, Feeling My Heart Pine. Wishing That This Meatless Beauty Still Would Be All Mine. She Turned Around To Go To Checkout, Fifteen Items Or Less. And I Knew This Was The Last Go-round, So This Is What I Said. ... "don't You Ever Give Me No Rotten Tomato, 'cause All I Ever Wanted Was Your Sweet Potato.

Your Mother Won A Special Reward," She Told Me, "because Everyone Had A Head In Her Pictures. We All Applauded.

Sometimes It Seems Safer To Hold It All In, Where The Only Person Who Can Judge Is Yourself.

I Have Boobs!" Chloe Said Again, A Bit Too Loudly— She'd Already Had A Couple Of Mini Bottles At The Spot. "my Boobs Are Great, Goddammit. You Know That? They're Fantastic! My Boobs Are Amazing.

Everything, In The End, Comes Down To Timing. One Second, One Minute, One Hour, Could Make All The Difference. So Much Hanging On Just These Things, Tiny Increments That Together Build A Life. Like Words Build A Story, And What Had Ted Said? One Word Can Change The Entire World.

Because If You Were The Problem, Chances Were You Could Also Be The Solution. The Only Way To Find Out Was To Take Another Shot.

As If At The Age Of Eighteen Life Already Sucked Beyond Any Hope Of Improvement.

It's The Same Thing,' I Told Her. 'what Is?' 'being Afraid And Being Alive.' 'no,' She Said Slowly, And Now It Was As If She Was Speaking A Language She Knew At First I Wouldn't Understand, The Very Words, Not To Mention The Concept, Being Foreign To Me. 'macy, No. It's Not.

Some Things You Don't Have To Tell. Some Things, Between Sisters, Are Understood.

But Against Love, The Case Was Solid. Easily Argued. And You Could, Indeed, Hold It In Your Hand.

It's Harder That In Looks," I Told Him When I Finally Got Back In The Car. "most Things Are.

Like A Word On A Page That You’ve Printed And Read A Million Times, That Suddenly Looks Strange Or Wrong, Foreign. And You Feel Scared For A Second, Like You’ve Lost Something, Even If You’re Not Sure What It Is.

The Basic Fact Is That No, This Isn't Ideal. Very Few Things Are. Sometimes, You Have To Manufacture Your Own History. Give Fate A Push,so To Speak.

Still, There Was Also Was Something Reassuring About Working For Commercial, Almost Hopeful. Like Things That Were Lost Could Be Found Again. As We Drove Away, I Always Tried To Imagine What It Would Be Like To Open Your Door To Find Something You Had Given Up On.

But Something, Somehow, Had Made All These Paths Converge. You Couldn't Find It On A Checklist, Or Work It Into The Equation. It Just Happened.

It's All In The View. That's What I Mean About Forever, Too. For Any One Of Us Our Forever Could End In An Hour, Or A Hundred Years From Now. You Never Know For Sure, So You'd Better Make Every Second Count.

Outside, The Ocean Was Crashing, Waves Hitting Sand, Then Pulling Back To Sea. I Thought Of Everything Being Washed Away, Again And Again. We Make Such Messes In This Life, Both Accidentally And On Purpose. But Wiping The Surface Clean Doesn't Really Make Anything Neater. It Just Masks What Is Below. It's Only When You Really Dig Down Deep, Go Underground, That You Can See Who You Really Are.

An Empty Frame, In Which The Picture Is Always Changing, Makes A Statement About How Time Is Always Passing. It Doesn't Really Stop, Even In A Single Image. I T Just Feels That Way.

I've Always Written In First Person. It Gives The Readers More Insight.

You Own A Tic Tac. Gum Is Just Borrowed. - Esther

Because Anyone That Can Make You Feel That Bad About Yourself Is Toxic.

You, Have This Whole Tall, Dark Stranger Thing Going On. Not To Mention The Tortured Artist Bit. And You, Have That Whole Blonde Cool And Collected Perfect Smart Thing Going On. You're The Boy All The Girls Want To Rebel With. You, Are The Unattainable Girl In Homeroom Who Never Gives A Guy The Time Of Day.

I Like Flaws. I Think They Make Things Interesting.

I Couldn't Imagine What It Would Be Like To Be One Of So Many, To Have Not Just Parents And Siblings But Cousins And Aunts And Uncles, An Entire Tribe To Claim As Your Own. Maybe You Would Feel Lost In The Crowd. Or Sheltered By It. Whatever The Case, One Things Was For Sure: Like It Or Not, You'd Never Be Alone.

I Think If You're Going To Show A True Representation Of Any One Life, It Can't Be About Any One Thing. I Try To See More Of A Full Picture, With The Romance Just A Single Part.

You're Not A Sucker. You're Just Nice. You Give People The Benefit Of The Doubt.

You Can't Just Turn Your Heart Off Like A Faucet; You Have To Go To The Source And Dry It Out, Drop By Drop.

I Wanted To Tell Him So. Find The Right Words, String Them Together In The Ideal Way, Knowing That Here They Would Have The Best Chance Of Sounding Perfect.

For Two Hours I'd Felt Myself Stretching Tighter And Tighter, Like A Rubber Band Pulled To The Point Of Snapping. And Now, I Could Feel The Smaller, Weaker Part Of Myself Beginning To Fray, Tiny Bits Giving Way Before The Big Break.

The Kind Who Live For Music And Are Constantly Seeking It Out, Anywhere They Can. Who Can't Imagine A Life Without It. They're Enlightened.

This Is Exactly What I Wanted, As Commitments Had Never Really Been My Thing. And It Wasn't Like It Was Hard, Either. The Only Trick Was Never Giving More Than You Were Willing To Lose.

Accepting All The Good And Bad About Someone. It's A Great Thing To Aspire To. The Hard Part Is Actually Doing It.

That's Not A Real Answer.' Says Who?' Says Me. I Mean Real Fear, Like Of Failure, Of Death, Of Regret. Like That. Something That Keeps You Awake Nights, Questioning Your Very Existence.' Clowns.

Stop It. Seriously. This Isn't Funny.' 'you're Right.' A Pause. 'it's Pathetic.

The First Boy Was Always The Hardest.

So Finally, I Decided That The Best Response — The Safest — Was None At All.

She Said Writting Novels Was Like Childbirth: If You Truly Remembered How Awful It Got, You'd Never Do It Again.

It Was Like Discovering That Some Part Of You Wasn't Yours At All. And It Made Me Wonder What Else I Couldn't Claim.

And No Relationship Is Perfect, Ever. There Are Always Some Ways You Have To Bend, To Compromise, To Give Something Up In Order To Gain Something Greater.

The First Thing I Did When I Got Inside Was Turn On The Kitchen Light. Then I Moved To The Table, Putting My Dad's Ipod On The Speaker Dock, And A Bob Dylan Song Came On, The Notes Familiar. I Went Into The Living Room, Hitting The Switch There, Then Down The Hallway To My Room, Where I Did The Same. It Was Amazing What A Little Noise And Brightness Could Do To A House And A Life, How Much The Smallest Bit Of Each Could Change Everything. After All These Years Of Just Passing Through, I Was Beginning To Finally Feel At Home.

I Think Having A Good Agent Is Key. I've Been With Mine For Ten Years Now, And She's Very Honest With Me. There Are A Lot Of Times I've Sent Her Books That Were Not So Good Because I Was Tired Of Writing, Or Panicked About Money, And She's Told Me Flat Out, "you Don't Want This To Be Your Next Book. Trust Me."

It's A Big Deal When You Finally Get The Chance To Do The One Thing You Want To Do - Need To Do - More Than Anything. It Can Kind Of Scare The Crap Out Of You.

[adam Picks Up The Camera] "i Have To Get A Shot Of This." The Reaction In The Room Was Swift, And Unanimous: Every Single Person Except Me Raised Their Hands At Once To Cover Their Faces. The Accompanying Utterances, Though, Were Varied. I Heard Everything From "please No" (maggie), To "jesus Christ" (wallace), To "stop It Or Die" (i'm Assuming It's Obvious).

Once I’m Done With A Book, I’m Done! I’m Just Not A Sequel Kind Of Girl. By The Time I’ve Finished A Book I’ve Read It So Many Times That It’s Time To Move On.

The Truth About Forever Is That It Is Happening Right Now.

Truth About Forever

I'm Sorry," I Heard Him Say Again. Then, Out Of The Corner Of My Eye, I Saw A Sudden Blur Of Movement As He Slid Out Of His Seat, Left Some Bills For The Breakfast He Wouldn't Eat, And Walked Away. And As He Did, I Thought Again Of Those Mornings In The Hallway At School, Way Back In Ninth Grade. Everything Had Started In Such Sharp Detail, Each Aspect Pronounced And Clear. Obviously, Endings Were Different. Harder To See, Full Of Shapes That Could Be One Thing Or Another, With All The Things That You Were Once So Sure Of Suddenly Not Familiar, If They Were Even Recognizable At All.

You're Not Supposed To Have It All Figured Out In High School. If You Knew It All, And It Was The Best, It's All Downhill From There.

If There's One Thing I've Learned In The Last Few Months, It's That Sometimes You Just Have To Close Your Eyes And Jump.

You Bought Me Some Forks. And Knives. And Spoons. Because You Love Me!

It Was So Weird, Because Usually I Was Totally Nervous Talking To Guys. But Eli Was Different. He Made Me Want To Say More, Not Less. Which Was Maybe Not A Good Thing.

I Think My Biggest Problem, Though, At Least In Drafts, Is Not Repeating Myself. After Eight Books I Get Worried That A Character Or Piece Of Dialog Might Be Too Much Like Something I've Already Done. So It's A Challenge To Keep It Fresh.

Everything Looks Different When You're Older, Not Staring Up At The World But Down Upon It.

I'd Learn That It's Not Just Where You Go, But How You Choose To Get There. So I Pulled That Sign Off The Green Bike - Enjoy Your Ride! - And Went Inside To Take The First Step Toward Doing Just That.

I Drove Off, With My Friends Watching Me Go, All Of Them Grouped On Lissa's Hood. As I Pulled Onto The Road, I Glanced Into The Rearview And Saw Them: They Were Waving, Hands Moving Through The Air, Their Voices Loud, Calling Out After Me. The Square Of That Mirror Was Like A Frame, Holding This Picture Of Them Saying Good-bye, Pushing Me Forward, Before Shifting Gently Out Of Sight, Inch By Fluid Inch, As I Turned Away.

I Should Have Told You From The Start. I Will Let You Down.

I Love Ya, And It's Been A Really Good Fit For Me. But At Some Point, I Would Like To Try Something Else: A Collection Of Short Stories, Or Writing About Something Other Than High School. A Lot Has Happened To Me Since I Was Eighteen.

"what Was The Name Of Pygmalion's Sister?" She Blinked, Twice, Obviously Surprised. "ummm," She Said, Keeping Her Eyes On Me. "i Don't Know." Rogerson Did," I Told Her. "rogerson Knew Everything."

And While It Is Hard Enough To Take Away Something That Makes A Person Happy It's Even More Difficult When It Seems Like It's The Only Thing.

You Get What You Give, But Also What You're Willing To Take. The Night Before, I'd Offered Up My Hand. Now, If I Held On, There Was No Telling What It Was Possible To Recieve In Return.

I Spent A Lot Of Time Looking At That Picture. Wondering What I’d Think Of That Girl, If I Was Someone Else, Seeing How Easily She Sits In Her Boyfriend’s Lap, Laughing, With His Arms Around Her. I Would Have Thought Her Life Was Perfect, The Way I Once Thought Cass’s Was. It Was Too Easy, I Was Learning, To Just Assume Things.

In School, Writing Was The Only Thing That Really Came Naturally To Me, But It Wasn't Until College That I Realized That I Could Do It For More Than Just Fun.

It Wasn’t So Much That I Was Positive. I Just Wasn’t Fully Subscribing To Such A Negative Way Of Thinking Anymore.

Way Of Thinking

Pieces And Parts Were Always Easier To Process. The Full Picture, The Entire Story, Was Another Thing Entirely. But You Just Never Knew. Sometimes, People Could Surprise You.

I Never Really Know What I'm Going To Write Next Until It Comes To Me. So We'll Just Have To See What Happens.

He Wasn't What I'd Thought He Was; Maybe He Never Had Been. I Wasn't What I'd Thought I Was, Either.

…you Don’t Want The Best Of Times To Be Just One Thing, Forever. You Have To Have A Lot Of Bests Of Times, Each One Topping The Last. You Know?

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