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Praise for New York Times bestselling

every day

Wise, wildly unique. A-.Entertainment Weekly

It demonstrates Levithans talent for empathy, which
is paired in the best parts of the book with a persuasive

optimism about the odds for happiness

and love.The New York Times

A story that is always alluring, oftentimes humorous

and much like love itselfsplendorous.Los Angeles Times
Ambitious and provocative . . . were
not ready to let A go.Boston Globe
Fresh, unique, funny, and achingly honest. . . .
I didnt just read this bookI inhaled it.
Jodi Picoult, New York Times bestselling author of Off the Page

Thoughtful and fascinating.MTV Hollywood Crush

One of the most inventive young adult
novels of the year.OUT Magazine
Levithan is a literary genius. His style of writing is
brilliantpractically flawless. . . . Reading As
journey . . . is an experience I hope everyone gets to share.
Romantic Times

Every Day tells

the story of A. Every day
in a different body.
Every day a different life.
Every day in love with the
same girl named Rhiannon.

Another Day is the

companion novel that tells
the story of Rhiannon as
she seeks to discover if she
can truly love someone
who is destined to change every day.

Turn the page and read the

story from both A and Rhiannons
perspectives . . .

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the
product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright 2012 by David Levithan
Cover art copyright 2012 by Adam Abernethy
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Ember, an imprint of
Random House Childrens Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Originally published in hardcover in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf,
an imprint of Random House Childrens Books, New York, in 2012.
Ember and the E colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Visit us on the Web! randomhouse.com/teens
Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at
RHTeachersLibrarians.com
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition of this work as follows:
Levithan, David.
Every day / by David Levithan.
p. cm.
Summary: Every morning A wakes in a different persons body, a different persons life, learning
over the years to never get too attached, until he wakes up in the body of Justin and falls in
love with Justins girlfriend, Rhiannon.
ISBN 978-0-307-93188-7 (trade) ISBN 978-0-375-97111-2 (lib. bdg.)
ISBN 978-0-307-93189-4 (tr. pbk.) ISBN 978-0-307-97563-8 (ebook)
[1. LoveFiction. 2. Interpersonal relationsFiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.L5798Es 2012 [Fic]dc23 2012004173
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Ember Edition 2013
Random House Childrens Books supports the First Amendment
and celebrates the right to read.

FREE SAMPLE COPYNOT FOR SALE

every day
david
levithan

Share your thoughts:

#EveryDayBook
#AnotherDayBook

As I take Justins books out of his locker, I can feel someone

hovering on the periphery. I turn, and the girl standing there
is transparent in her emotionstentative and expectant, nervous and adoring. I dont have to access Justin to know that
this is his girlfriend. No one else would have this reaction to
him, so unsteady in his presence. Shes pretty, but she doesnt
see it. Shes hiding behind her hair, happy to see me and unhappy to see me at the same time.
Her name is Rhiannon. And for a momentjust the slightest beatI think that, yes, this is the right name for her. I
dont know why. I dont know her. But it feels right.
This is not Justins thought. Its mine. I try to ignore it. Im
not the person she wants to talk to.
Hey, I say, keeping it casual.
Hey, she murmurs back.
Shes looking at the floor, at her inkedin Converse. Shes
drawn cities there, skylines around the soles. Somethings happened between her and Justin, and I dont know what it is. Its
probably not something that Justin even recognized at the time.
Are you okay? I ask.
I see the surprise on her face, even as she tries to cover it.
This is not something that Justin normally asks.
And the strange thing is: I want to know the answer. The
fact that he wouldnt care makes me want it more.
Sure, she says, not sounding sure at all.
I find it hard to look at her. I know from experience that
beneath every peripheral girl is a central truth. Shes hiding
hers away, but at the same time she wants me to see it. That is,

she wants Justin to see it. And its there, just out of my reach.
A sound waiting to be a word.
She is so lost in her sadness that she has no idea how visible
it is. I think I understand herfor a moment, I presume to understand herbut then, from within this sadness, she surprises
me with a brief flash of determination. Bravery, even.
Shifting her gaze away from the floor, her eyes matching
mine, she asks, Are you mad at me?
I cant think of any reason to be mad at her. If anything, I
am mad at Justin, for making her feel so diminished. Its there
in her body language. When she is around him, she makes herself small.
No, I say. Im not mad at you at all.
I tell her what she wants to hear, but she doesnt trust it. I
feed her the right words, but she suspects theyre threaded with
hooks.
This is not my problem; I know that. I am here for one
day. I cannot solve anyones boyfriend problems. I should not
change anyones life.
I turn away from her, get my books out, close the locker.
She stays in the same spot, anchored by the profound, desperate loneliness of a bad relationship.
Do you still want to get lunch today? she asks.
The easy thing would be to say no. I often do this: sense
theother persons life drawing me in, and run in the other
direction.
But theres something about herthe cities on her shoes,
the flash of bravery, the unnecessary sadnessthat makes me
want to know what the word will be when it stops being a

sound. I have spent years meeting people without ever knowing them, and on this morning, in this place, with this girl, I
feel the faintest pull of wanting to know. And in a moment of
either weakness or bravery on my own part, I decide to follow
it. I decide to find out more.
Absolutely, I say. Lunch would be great.
Again, I read her: What Ive said is too enthusiastic. Justin
is never enthusiastic.
No big deal, I add.
Shes relieved. Or, at least, as relieved as shell allow herselfto be, which is a very guarded form of relief. By accessing,
Iknow she and Justin have been together for over a year. Thats
as specific as it gets. Justin doesnt remember the exact date.
She reaches out and takes my hand. I am surprised by how
good this feels.
Im glad youre not mad at me, she says. I just want everything to be okay.
I nod. If theres one thing Ive learned, its this: We all want
everything to be okay. We dont even wish so much for fantastic or marvelous or outstanding. We will happily settle for
okay, because most of the time, okay is enough.
The first bell rings.
Ill see you later, I say.
Such a basic promise. But to Rhiannon, it means the world.

At first it was hard to go through each day without making

any lasting connections, leaving any life-changing effects.
When I was younger, I craved friendship and closeness. I
would make bonds without acknowledging how quickly and
permanently they would break. I took other peoples lives personally. I felt their friends could be my friends, their parents
could be my parents. But after a while, I had to stop. It was
too heartbreaking to live with so many separations.
I am a drifter, and as lonely as that can be, it is also remarkably freeing. I will never define myself in terms of anyone
else. I will never feel the pressure of peers or the burden of
parental expectation. I can view everyone as pieces of a whole,
and focus on the whole, not the pieces. I have learned how to
observe, far better than most people observe. I am not blinded
by the past or motivated by the future. I focus on the present,
because that is where I am destined to live.
I learn. Sometimes I am taught something I have already
been taught in dozens of other classrooms. Sometimes I am
taught something completely new. I have to access the body,
access the mind and see what information its retained. And
when I do, I learn. Knowledge is the only thing I take with me
when I go.
I know so many things that Justin doesnt know, that he
will never know. I sit there in his math class, open his notebook, and write down phrases he has never heard. Shakespeare
and Kerouac and Dickinson. Tomorrow, or some day after tomorrow, or never, he will see these words in his own handwriting and he wont have any idea where they came from, or even
what they are.

That is as much interference as I allow myself.

Everything else must be done cleanly.

Rhiannon stays with me. Her details. Flickers from Justins

memories. Small things, like the way her hair falls, the way
she bites her fingernails, the determination and resignation
in her voice. Random things. I see her dancing with Justins
grandfather, because hes said he wants a dance with a pretty
girl. I see her covering her eyes during a scary movie, peering
between her fingers, enjoying her fright. These are the good
memories. I dont look at any others.
I only see her once in the morning, a brief passing in the
halls between first and second period. I find myself smiling
when she comes near, and she smiles back. Its as simple as
that. Simple and complicated, as most true things are. I find
myself looking for her after second period, and then again after
third and fourth. I dont even feel in control of this. I want to
see her. Simple. Complicated.
By the time we get to lunch, I am exhausted. Justins body
is worn down from too little sleep and I, inside of it, am worn
down from restlessness and too much thought.
I wait for her at Justins locker. The first bell rings. The second bell rings. No Rhiannon. Maybe I was supposed to meet
her somewhere else. Maybe Justins forgotten where they always meet.
If thats the case, shes used to Justin forgetting. She finds
me right when Im about to give up. The halls are nearly empty,
the cattle call has passed. She comes closer than she did before.

Hey, I say.
Hey, she says.
She is looking to me. Justin is the one who makes the first
move. Justin is the one who figures things out. Justin is the one
who says what theyre going to do.
It depresses me.
I have seen this too many times before. The unwarranted
devotion. Putting up with the fear of being with the wrong
person because you cant deal with the fear of being alone. The
hope tinged with doubt, and the doubt tinged with hope. Every time I see these feelings in someone elses face, it weighs me
down. And theres something in Rhiannons face thats more
than just the disappointments. There is a gentleness there. A
gentleness that Justin will never, ever appreciate. I see it right
away, but nobody else does.
I take all my books and put them in the locker. I walk over
to her and put my hand lightly on her arm.
I have no idea what Im doing. I only know that Im doingit.
Lets go somewhere, I say. Where do you want to go?
I am close enough now to see that her eyes are blue. I am
close enough now to see that nobody ever gets close enough to
see how blue her eyes are.
I dont know, she replies.
I take her hand.
Come on, I tell her.
This is no longer restlessnessits recklessness. At first
were walking hand in hand. Then were running hand in
hand. That giddy rush of keeping up with one another, of

zooming through the school, reducing everything thats not us

into an inconsequential blur. We are laughing, we are playful.
We leave her books in her locker and move out of the building, into the air, the real air, the sunshine and the trees and the
less burdensome world. I am breaking the rules as I leave the
school. I am breaking the rules as we get into Justins car. I am
breaking the rules as I turn the key in the ignition.
Where do you want to go? I ask again. Tell me, truly,
where youd love to go.
I dont initially realize how much hinges on her answer. If
she says, Lets go to the mall, I will disconnect. If she says, Take
me back to your house, I will disconnect. If she says, Actually, I
dont want to miss sixth period, I will disconnect. And I should
disconnect. I should not be doing this.
But she says, I want to go to the ocean. I want you to take
me to the ocean.
And I feel myself connecting.

It takes us an hour to get there. Its late September in Maryland. The leaves havent begun to change, but you can tell
theyre starting to think about it. The greens are muted,
faded. Color is right around the corner.
I give Rhiannon control of the radio. Shes surprised by this,
but I dont care. Ive had enough of the loud and the obnoxious,
and I sense that shes had enough of it, too. She brings melody
to the car. A song comes on that I know, and I sing along.
And if I only could, Id make a deal with God....

10

Now Rhiannon goes from surprised to suspicious. Justin

never sings along.
Whats gotten into you? she asks.
Music, I tell her.
Ha.
No, really.
She looks at me for a long time. Then smiles.
In that case, she says, flipping the dial to find the next
song.
Soon we are singing at the top of our lungs. A pop song
thats as substantial as a balloon, but lifts us in the same way
when we sing it.
Its as if time itself relaxes around us. She stops thinking
about how unusual it is. She lets herself be a part of it.
I want to give her a good day. Just one good day. I have
wandered for so long without any sense of purpose, and now
this ephemeral purpose has been given to meit feels like it
has been given to me. I only have a day to giveso why cant
it be a good one? Why cant it be a shared one? Why cant I
take the music of the moment and see how long it can last?
The rules are erasable. I can take this. I can give this.
When the song is over, she rolls down her window and
trails her hand in the air, introducing a new music into the car.
I roll down all the other windows and drive faster, so the wind
takes over, blows our hair all around, makes it seem like the
car has disappeared and we are the velocity, we are the speed.
Then another good song comes on and I enclose us again, this
time taking her hand. I drive like that for miles, and ask her
questions. Like how her parents are doing. What its like now

11

that her sisters off at college. If she thinks school is different

at all this year.
Its hard for her. Every single answer starts with the phrase
I dont know. But most of the time she does know, if I give her
the time and the space in which to answer. Her mother means
well; her father less so. Her sister isnt calling home, but Rhiannon can understand that. School is schoolshe wants it to be
over, but shes afraid of it being over, because then shell have
to figure out what comes next.
She asks me what I think, and I tell her, Honestly, Im just
trying to live day to day.
It isnt enough, but its something. We watch the trees, the
sky, the signs, the road. We sense each other. The world, right
now, is only us. We continue to sing along. And we sing with
the same abandon, not worrying too much if our voices hit the
right notes or the right words. We look at each other while
were singing; these arent two solos, this is a duet that isnt
taking itself at all seriously. It is its own form of conversation
you can learn a lot about people from the stories they tell, but
you can also know them from the way they sing along, whether
they like the windows up or down, if they live by the map or by
the world, if they feel the pull of the ocean.
She tells me where to drive. Off the highway. The empty
back roads. This isnt summer; this isnt a weekend. Its the
middle of a Monday, and nobody but us is going to the beach.
I should be in English class, Rhiannon says.
I should be in bio, I say, accessing Justins schedule.
We keep going. When I first saw her, she seemed to be

12

balancing on edges and points. Now the ground is more even,

welcoming.
I know this is dangerous. Justin is not good to her. I recognize that. If I access the bad memories, I see tears, fights, and
remnants of passable togetherness. She is always there for him,
and he must like that. His friends like her, and he must like
that, too. But thats not the same as love. She has been hanging on to the hope of him for so long that she doesnt realize
there isnt anything left to hope for. They dont have silences
together; they have noise. Mostly his. If I tried, I could go deep
into their arguments. I could track down whatever shards hes
collected from all the times hes destroyed her. If I were really
Justin, I would find something wrong with her. Right now. Tell
her. Yell. Bring her down. Put her in her place.
But I cant. Im not Justin. Even if she doesnt know it.
Lets just enjoy ourselves, I say.
Okay, she replies. I like that. I spend so much time
thinking about running awayits nice to actually do it. For a
day. Its good to be on the other side of the window. I dont do
this enough.
There are so many things inside of her that I want to know.
And at the same time, with every word we speak, I feel there
may be something inside of her that I already know. When I
get there, we will recognize each other. We will have that.

I park the car and we head to the ocean. We take off our
shoes and leave them under our seats. When we get to the
sand, I lean over to roll up my jeans. While I do, Rhiannon

13

runs ahead. When I look back up, she is spinning around the
beach, kicking up sand, calling my name. Everything, at that
moment, is lightness. She is so joyful, I cant help but stop for
a second and watch. Witness. Tell myself to remember.
Cmon! she cries. Get over here!
Im not who you think I am, I want to tell her. But theres no
way. Of course theres no way.
We have the beach to ourselves, the ocean to ourselves. I
have her to myself. She has me to herself.
There is a part of childhood that is childish, and a part that
is sacred. Suddenly we are touching the sacred partrunning
to the shoreline, feeling the first cold burst of water on our
ankles, reaching into the tide to catch at shells before they
ebb away from our fingers. We have returned to a world that is
capable of glistening, and we are wading deeper within it. We
stretch our arms wide, as if we are embracing the wind. She
splashes me mischievously and I mount a counterattack. Our
pants, our shirts get wet, but we dont care.
She asks me to help her build a sand castle, and as I do,
she tells me about how she and her sister would never work
on sand castles togetherit was always a competition, with
her sister going for the highest possible mountains while Rhiannon paid attention to detail, wanting each castle to be the
dollhouse she was never allowed to have. I see echoes of this
detail now as she makes turrets bloom from her cupped hands.
I myself have no memories of sand castles, but there must be
some sense memory attached, because I feel I know how to do
this, how to shape this.
When we are done, we walk back down to the water to

14

wash off our hands. I look back and see the way our footsteps
intermingle to form a single path.
What is it? she asks, seeing me glance backward, seeing
something in my expression.
How can I explain this? The only way I know is to say
Thank you.
She looks at me as if shes never heard the phrase before.
For what? she asks.
For this, I say. For all of it.
This escape. The water. The waves. Her. It feels like weve
stepped outside of time. Even though there is no such place.
Theres still a part of her thats waiting for the twist, the
moment when all of this pleasure will jackknife into pain.
Its okay, I tell her. Its okay to be happy.
The tears come to her eyes. I take her in my arms. Its the
wrong thing to do. But its the right thing to do. I have to listen
to my own words. Happiness is so rarely a part of my vocabulary, because for me its so fleeting.
Im happy, she says. Really, I am.
Justin would be laughing at her. Justin would be pushing
her down into the sand, to do whatever he wanted to do. Justin
would never have come here.
I am tired of not feeling. I am tired of not connecting. I
want to be here with her. I want to be the one who lives up to
her hopes, if only for the time Im given.
The ocean makes its music; the wind does its dance. We
hold on. At first we hold on to one another, but then it starts
to feel like we are holding on to something even bigger than
that. Greater.

15

Whats happening? Rhiannon asks.

Shhh, I say. Dont question it.
She kisses me. I have not kissed anyone in years. I have
not allowed myself to kiss anyone for years. Her lips are soft as
flower petals, but with an intensity behind them. I take it slow,
let each moment pour into the next. Feel her skin, her breath.
Taste the condensation of our contact, linger in the heat of it.
Her eyes are closed and mine are open. I want to remember
this as more than a single sensation. I want to remember this
whole.
We do nothing more than kiss. We do nothing less than
kiss. At times, she moves to take it further, but I dont need
that. I trace her shoulders as she traces my back. I kiss her
neck. She kisses beneath my ear. The times we stop, we smile
at each other. Giddy disbelief, giddy belief. She should be in
English class. I should be in bio. We werent supposed to come
anywhere near the ocean today. We have defied the day as it
was set out for us.

16

another day
david
levithan
Share your thoughts:
#EveryDayBook
#AnotherDayBook

alfred a. knopf
new york

this is a borzoi book published by alfred a. knopf

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the
product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright 2015 by David Levithan
Jacket art copyright 2015 by Adam Abernethy
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of
Random House Childrens Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Knopf, Borzoi Books, and the colophon are registered trademarks of
Penguin Random House LLC.
Visit us on the Web! randomhouseteens.com
Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at
RHTeachersLibrarians.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Datadatadata tk
ISBN 978-1-101-93136-3 (intl. tr. pbk.)
The text of this book is set in 11.5-point Goudy.
Printed in the United States of America
August 2015
10987654321
First Edition
Random House Childrens Books supports the First Amendment
and celebrates the right to read.

FREE SAMPLE COPYNOT FOR SALE

I follow him. Of course I do. Only a needy girl would be mad

at her boyfriend because he didnt notice her in a parking lot.
As Im walking to his locker, I wonder which Justin Ill find
there. It probably wont be Sweet Justin, because its rare for
Sweet Justin to show up at school. And hopefully it wont be
Angry Justin, because I havent done anything that wrong, I
dont think. Im hoping for Chill Justin, because I like Chill
Justin. When hes around, we can all calm down.
I stand there as he takes his books out of his locker. I look at
the back of his neck because I am in love with the back of his
neck. There is something so physical about it, something that
makes me want to lean over and kiss it.
Finally he looks at me. I cant read his expression, not right
away. Its like hes trying to figure me out at the same time Im
trying to figure him out. I think maybe this is a good sign, because maybe it means hes worried about me. Or its a bad sign,
because he doesnt understand why Im here.
Hey, he says.
Hey, I say back.
Theres something really intense about the way hes looking
at me. Im sure hes finding something wrong. Theres always
something wrong for him to find.
But he doesnt say anything. Which is weird. Then, even
weirder, he asks me, Are you okay?
I must look really pathetic if hes asking me that.
Sure, I tell him. Because I dont know what the answer
is supposed to be. I am not okaythats actually the right answer. But its not the right answer to say to him. I know that
much.

19

Danger. If this is some kind of trap, I dont appreciate it. If

this is payback for what I said last night, I want it over with.
Are you mad at me? I ask, not sure I want to know the
answer.
And he goes, No. Im not mad at you at all.
Liar.
When we have problems, Im usually the one who sees
them. I do the worrying for both of us. I just cant tell him
about it too often, because then its almost like Im bragging
that I understand whats going on while he doesnt.
Uncertainty. Do I ask about last night? Or do I pretend it
never happenedthat it never happens?
Do you still want to get lunch today? I ask. Its only after I
ask that I realize Im trying to make plans again. I should learn,
but I never do.
Maybe I am a needy girl, after all.
Absolutely, Justin says. Lunch would be great.
Bullshit. Hes playing with me. He has to be.
No big deal, he adds.
I look at him, and it seems genuine. Maybe Im wrong to
assume the worst. And maybe Ive managed to make him feel
stupid by being so surprised.
I take his hand and hold it. If hes willing to step back from
last night, I am, too. This is what we do. When the stupid
fights are over, were good.
Im glad youre not mad at me, I tell him. I just want
everything to be okay.
He knows I love him. I know he loves me. That is never the
question. The question is always how well deal with it.

20

Time. The bell rings. I have to remind myself that school is

not a thing that exists solely to give us a place to be together.
Ill see you later, he says.
I hold on to that. Its the only thing that will get me through
the empty space that follows.

I was watching one of my shows, and one of the housewives

was like, Hes a fuckup, but hes my fuckup, and I thought,
Oh, shit, I really shouldnt be relating to this, but I am, and so
what? That has to be what love isseeing what a mess he is
and loving him anyway, because you know youre a mess, too,
maybe even worse.
We werent an hour into our first date before Justin was setting off the alarms.
Im warning youIm trouble, he said over dinner at TGI
Fridays. Total trouble.
And do you warn all the other girls? I replied, flirting.
But what I got back wasnt flirtation. It was real.
No, he said. I dont.
This was his way of letting me know that I was someone he
cared about. Even at the very beginning.
He hadnt meant to tell me. But there it was.
And even though hes forgotten a lot of other details about
that first date, hes never forgotten what he said.
I warned you! hell yell at me on nights when its really bad,
really hard. You cant say I didnt warn you!
Sometimes this only makes me hold him tighter.

21

Sometimes Ive already let go, feeling awful that theres

nothing I can do.

The only time our paths intersect in the morning is between

first and second periods, so I look for him then. We only have
a minute to share, sometimes less, but Im always thankful.
Its like Im taking attendance. Love? Here! Even if were tired
(which is pretty much always) and even if we dont have much
to say, I know he wont just pass me by.
Today I smile, because, all things considered, the morning
went pretty well. And he smiles back at me.
Good signs. I am always looking for good signs.

I head to Justins class as soon as fourth period is over, but he

hasnt waited for me. So I go to the cafeteria, to where we usually sit. Hes not there, either. I ask Rebecca if shes seen him.
She says she hasnt, and doesnt seem too surprised that Im
looking. I decide to ignore that. I check my locker and hes
not there. Im starting to think hes forgotten, or was playing
with me all along. I decide to check his locker, even though its
about as far from the cafeteria as you can get. He never stops
there before lunch. But I guess today he has, because there
heis.
Im happy to see him, but also exhausted. Its just so much
work. He looks worse than I feel, staring into his locker like
theres a window in there. In some people, this would mean

22

daydreams. But Justin doesnt daydream. When hes gone, hes

really gone.
Now hes back. Right when I get to him.
Hey, he says.
Hey, I say back.
Im hungry, but not that hungry. The most important thing
is for us to be in the same place. I can do that anywhere.
Hes putting all of his books in his locker now, as if hes
done with the day. I hope nothings wrong. I hope hes not
giving up. If Im going to be stuck here, I want him stuck here,
too.
He stands up and puts his hand on my arm. Gentle. Way
too gentle. Its something Id do to him, not something hed do
to me. I like it, but I also dont like it.
Lets go somewhere, he says. Where do you want to go?
Again, I think there has to be a right answer to this question, and that if I get it wrong, I will ruin everything. He wants
something from me, but Im not sure what.
I dont know, I tell him.
He takes his hand off my arm and I think, okay, wrong answer. But then he takes my hand.
Come on, he says.
Theres an electricity in his eyes. Power. Light.
He closes the locker and pulls me forward. I dont understand. Were walking hand in hand through the almost-empty
halls. We never do this. He gets this grin on his face and we
go faster. Its like were little kids at recess. Running, actually
running down the halls. People look at us like were insane. Its
so ridiculous. He swings us by my locker and tells me to leave

23

my books here, too. I dont understand, but I go along with

ithes in a great mood, and I dont want to do anything that
will break it.
Once my lockers closed, we keep going. Right out the door.
Simple as that. Escape. Were always talking about how we
want to leave, and this time were doing it. I figure hell take
me to get pizza or something. Maybe be late to fifth period. We
get to his car and I dont even want to ask him what were doing. I just want to let him do it.
He turns and asks, Where do you want to go? Tell me,
truly, where youd love to go.
Strange. Hes asking me as if Im the one who knows the
right answer.
I really hope this isnt a trick. I really hope I wont regret
this.
I say the first thing that comes to my mind.
I want to go to the ocean. I want you to take me to the
ocean.
I figure hell laugh and say what he really meant was that
we should go to his house while his parents are gone and spend
the afternoon having sex and watching TV. Or that hes trying
to prove a point about not making plans, to prove that I like
being spontaneous better. Or hell tell me to go have fun at the
ocean while he goes to get lunch. All of these are possibilities,
and they all play at the same time in my head.
The only thing Im not expecting is for him to think its a
good idea.
Okay, he says, pulling out of the parking lot. I still think
hes joking, but then hes asking me the best way to get there.

24

I tell him which highways we should taketheres a beach my

family used to go to a lot in summer, and if were going to the
ocean, we might as well go there.
As he steers, I can tell hes enjoying himself. It should put
me at ease, but its making me nervous. It would be just like Justin to take me somewhere really special in order to dump me.
Make a big production of it. Maybe leave me stranded there. I
dont actually think this is going to happenbut its possible.
As a way of proving to me that hes able to make plans. As a
way of showing hes not as afraid of the future as I said he was.
Youre being crazy, Rhiannon, I tell myself. Its something he
says to me all the time. A lot of the time, hes right.
Just enjoy it, I think. Because were not in school. Were
together.
He turns on the radio and tells me to take over. What? My
car, my radiohow many times have I heard him say that? But
it seems like his offer is real, so I slip from station to station,
trying to find something hell be into. When I pause too long
on a song I like, he says, Why not that one? And Im thinking, Because you hate it. But I dont say that out loud. I let the
song play. I wait for him to make a joke about it, say the singer
sounds like shes having her period.
Instead, he starts to sing along.
Disbelief. Justin never sings along. He will yell at the radio.
He will talk back to whatever the talk radio people are saying.Every now and then he might beat along on his steering
wheel. But he does not sing.
I wonder if hes on drugs. But Ive seen him on drugs before,
and its never been like this.

25

Whats gotten into you? I ask.

Music, he says.
Ha.
No, really.
Hes not joking. Hes not laughing at me somewhere inside.
I am looking at him and I can see that. I dont know whats going on, but its not that.
I decide to see how far I can push it. Because thats what a
needy girl does.
In that case..., I say. I flip stations until I find the least
Justin song possible.
And there it is. Kelly Clarkson. Singing how what doesnt
kill you makes you stronger.
I turn it up. In my head, I dare him to sing along.
Surprise.
We are belting it out. I have no idea how he knows the
words. But I dont question it. I am singing with everything
Ive got, never knowing I could love this song as much as I do
right now, because it is making everything okayit is making us okay. I refuse to think about anything other than that.
I want us to stay inside the song. Because this is something
weve never done before and it feels great.
When its done, I roll down my windowI want to feel
the wind in my hair. Without a word, Justin rolls down all the
other windows, and its like were in a wind tunnel, like this is
a ride in an amusement park when really its just a car driving
down the highway. He looks so happy. It makes me realize how
rare it is for me to see him happy, the kind of happy where
there isnt anything else on your mind besides the happiness.

26

Hes usually so afraid to show it, as if it might be stolen away

at any moment.
He takes my hand and starts to ask me questions. Personal
questions.
He starts with How are your parents doing?
Um... I dont know, I say. Hes never really cared about
my parents before. I know he wants them to like him, but because hes not sure they will, he pretends it doesnt matter. I
mean, you know. Mom is trying to hold it all together without
actually doing anything. My dad has his moments, but hes not
exactly the most fun person to be around. The older he gets,
the less he seems to give a damn about anything.
And whats it like with Liza at college?
When he asks this question, its as if hes proud that hes
remembered my sisters name. That sounds more like Justin.
I dont know, I tell him. You know we were more like
sisters living under a truce than best friends. I dont know if I
miss her that much, although it was easier having her around,
because then there were two of us, you know? She never calls
home. Even when my mom calls her, she doesnt call back. I
dont blame her for thatIm sure she has better things to do.
And really, I always knew that once she left, shed be gone. So
Im not shocked or anything.
I realize as Im talking that Im getting close to the nerve,
talking about what happens when high school is over. But Justin doesnt seem to be taking it personally. Instead, he asks
me if I think school is much different this year than last year.
Which is a weird question. Something my grandmother would
ask. Not my boyfriend.

27

I tread carefully.
I dont know. School sucks. Thats not different. But,
you knowwhile I really want it to be over, Im also worried
about everything thats going to come after. Not that I have
it planned out. I dont. I know you think that I have all of
these plansbut if you actually look at the things Ive done to
prepare myself for life after high school, all youll see is a huge
blank. Im just as unprepared as anyone else.
Shut up, shut up, shut up, Im telling myself. Why are you
bringing this up?
But maybe I have a reason. Maybe Im bringing it up to see
what hell do. He tests me all the time, but Im not exactly innocent in that department, either.
What do you think? I ask him.
And he says, Honestly, Im just trying to live day to day.
I know. But I appreciate it more when its said like this, in a
voice that acknowledges were on the same side. I wait for him
to say more, to edge back into last nights fight. But he lets it
go. I am grateful.
Its been over a year, and thereve been at least a hundred
times when Ive told myself that this was itthis was the new
start. Turning the page, as if that meant we werent still in the
same story. Sometimes I was right. But not as much as I wanted
to be.
Realistic. I will not let myself think that things are suddenly better. I will not let myself think that weve somehow
escaped the us we always end up being. But at the same time, I
will not deny whats happening. I will not deny this happiness.

28

Because if happiness feels real, it almost doesnt matter if its

real or not.
Instead of plugging the destination into his phone, hes asking me to keep giving him directions. I screw up and tell him to
get off the highway one exit too soon, but when I realize this,
he doesnt freak out at allhe just gets back on the highway
and goes one more exit. Now Im no longer wondering if hes
on drugsIm wondering if hes on medication. If so, its kicking in pretty quickly.
I do not say a word. I dont want to jinx it.
I should be in English class, I say as we make the last turn
before the beach.
I should be in bio, Justin says back.
But this is more important. I can make up my homework,
but I cant make up my life.
Lets just enjoy ourselves, he says.
Okay, I tell him. I like that. I spend so much time thinking about running awayits nice to actually do it. For a day.
Its good to be on the other side of the window. I dont do this
enough.
Maybe this is what weve needed all along. Distance from
everything else, and closeness to each other.
Something is working hereI can feel it working.

Memory. This is the beach my family would come to, on days

when the house was too hot or my parents were sick of staying
in the same place. When wed come here, wed be surrounded
by other families. I liked to imagine that each of our blankets

29

was a house, and that a certain number of blankets made a town.

Im sure there were a few kids I saw all the time, whose parents
always took them here, too, but I cant remember any of them
now. I can only remember my own familymy mother always
under an umbrella, either not wanting to burn or not wanting
to be seen; my sister taking out a book and staying inside it the
whole time; my father talking to the other fathers about sports
or stocks. When it got too hot, he would race me down into the
water and ask me what kind of fish I wanted to be. I knew that
the right answer was flying fish, because if I told him that, he
would gather me in his arms and throw me into the air.
I dont know why Ive never brought Justin here before.
Last summer, we stayed indoors, waiting for his parents to
leave for work so we could have sex in every room of the house,
including some of the closets. Then, when it was done, wed
watch TV or play video games. Sometimes wed call around to
see what everyone else was doing, and by the time his parents
came home, wed be off at someone elses house, drinking or
watching TV or playing video games or some mix of the three.
It was great, because it wasnt school, and we were with each
other. But it didnt really get us anywhere.
I leave my shoes in the car, just like I did when I was a kid.
Theres the awkward couple of steps when youre still in the
parking lot and the pavement hurts, but then theres the sand
and everythings fine. The beach is completely empty today,
and even though I didnt expect there to be a lot of people
here, its still surprising, like weve caught the beach napping.
I cant help myself. I run right down into it, spin around.
Mine, I think. The beach is mine. The time is mine. Justin is

30

mine. Nobodynothingis going to interfere with that. I call

out his name, and its like Im still singing along to a song.
He looks at me for a moment, and I think, oh no, this is the
part where he tells me I look like an idiot. But then hes running down to me, grabbing hold of me, swinging me around.
Hes heard the song, and now were dancing. Were laughing
and racing each other to the water. When we get there, we
splash-war, feeling the tide against our legs. I reach down for
some shells and Justin joins me, looking for colors that wont
be the same when theyre dry, looking for sea glass and spirals. The water feels so good, and standing still feels so good,
because theres a whole ocean pulling at me and I have the
strength to stay where I am.
Justins face is completely unguarded. His body is entirely
relaxed. I never see him like this. We are playing, but its not
the kind of playing that boyfriends and girlfriends do, where
theres strategy and scorekeeping and secret moves. No, we
have scissored ourselves away from all that.
I ask him to build a sand castle with me. I tell him how
Lisa always had to have her own, next to mine. She would
build a huge mountain with a deep moat around it, while I
would make a small, detailed house with things like a front
door and a garage. Basically, I was building the dollhouse I was
never able to have, while Liza was creating the fortress she felt
she needed. She would never touch my castleshe wasnt the
kind of older sister who needed to destroy the competition. But
she wouldnt let me touch hers, either. Wed leave them when
we were done, for the tide to take away. Sometimes our parents

31

would come over. To me, theyd say, How pretty! To Liza, it

would be, How tall!
I want Justin to work on a sand castle with me. I want us to
experience what its like to build something together. We dont
have any shovels or buckets. Everything has to be done with
our hands. He takes the phrase sand castle literallystarting
with the square foundation, drawing on a drawbridge with his
finger. I work on the turrets and the towersbalconies are
precarious, but spires are possible. At random moments, he
compliments melittle words like nice and neat and sweet
and I feel like the beach is somehow unlocking this vocabulary
from the dungeon where hes kept it all these months. I always
feltmaybe hopedthat the words were in there somewhere.
And now I know they are.
It isnt very warm out, but I can feel the sun on my cheeks
and my neck. We could gather more shells and begin to decorate, but I am starting to tire of the building, and putting our
focus there. When the last tower is completed, I suggest we
wander for a little while.
Are you pleased with our creation? he asks.
And I say, Very.
We head to the water to wash off our hands. Justin stares
back at the beach, back at our castle, and seems lost for a moment. Lost, but in a good place.
What is it? I ask.
He looks at me, eyes so kind, and says, Thank you.
I am sure he has said these two words to me before, but
never like this, never in a way that would make me want to
remember them.

32

For what? I ask. What I mean is: Why now? Why finally?
For this, he says. For all of it.
I want so much to trust it. I want so much to think weve
finally shifted to the place I always thought we could get to.
But its too simple. It feels too simple.
Its okay, he tells me. Its okay to be happy.
I have wanted this for so long. This is not how I pictured
it, but nothing ever is. I am overwhelmed by how much I love
him. I dont hate him at all. Theres not a single part of me that
hates him. There is only love. And it isnt terrifying. It is the
opposite of terrifying.
I am crying because Im happy and Im crying because I
dont think I ever realized how much I was expecting to be
unhappy. I am crying because for the first time in a long time,
life makes sense.
He sees me crying and doesnt make fun of it. He doesnt
get defensive, asking what he did this time. He doesnt tell me
he warned me. He doesnt tell me to stop. No, he wraps his
arms around me and holds me and takes these things that are
only words and makes them into something more than words.
Comfort. He gives me something I can actually feelhis presence, his hold.
Im happy, I say, afraid he thinks Im crying for a reason
besides that. Really, I am.
The wind, the beach, the sun
everything else wraps
around us, but our embrace is the one that matters. I am holding on to him now as much as he is holding on to me. We have
reached that perfect balance, where each of us is strong and
each of us is weak, each taking, each giving.

33

Whats happening? I ask.

Shhh, he says. Dont question it.
I dont feel any questionsonly answers. No fear, only fullness. I kiss him and continue our perfect balance there, let our
separate breaths become one breath. I close my eyes and feel
the familiar press of his lips, the familiar taste of his mouth. But
something is different now. We are not just kissing with our
whole bodies, but with something that is bigger than our bodies, that is who we are and who we will be. We are kissing from
a deeper part of our selves, and we are finding a deeper part
of each other. It feels like electricity hitting water, fire reaching paper, the brightest light finding our eyes. I run my hands
down his back, down his front, as if I need to know that hes
really here, that this is really happening. I linger on the back of
his neck. He lingers on the side of my hip. I slip below his belt,
but he leads me back up. He kisses my neck. I kiss beneath his
ear. I kiss his smile. He traces my laugh.
Enjoying this. We are enjoying this.
I have no idea what time it is, what day it is. I have nothing
but now. Nothing but here. And it is more than enough.

34