A book was mere paper splattered with ink until a reader’s mind gave it life.

Why did things have to get so backwards in our house? Since she couldn’t be the adult, I knew that it had to be me. But that didn’t stop me from hating it--from wishing it was just over. I’d give anything to be a kid again and not to be the responsible one in the house. It was like I was trapped in a horrible virtual-reality game, except there was no way for me to quit.

My mother sat motionless at the kitchen table, her head cradled on one arm, the other extended toward her ever-present coffee mug. This was going to be another of her bad days. It was hard to pinpoint when I’d given up hope that she would pull herself together--that me being in charge would be a temporary thing. But too many months had passed with nothing changing, except somewhere along the way I’d stopped feeling sympathy for her. Or anger. It was easier to not feel anything where my mother was concerned because then I could never be let down.

Strange how knowing our story had no happy ending had freed us to live in the moment. We weren’t guy and girl. We weren’t damaged and terminal. We were just now.

I think it must be one of those things where no one’s wrong and everybody loses.

I need to do something about college, but I’m not sure what.”“Where have you decided to apply?”“Nowhere yet. Any time I think about the schools I’ve visited, I feel overwhelmed. The campuses are so big that I know I’ll get lost. I dread making new friends. And the professors acted too busy to deal with someone like me. My parents will be wasting a huge amount of money.”“Your fears are no different than most high school seniors.” He studied me thoughtfully. “Must you go to college?”I opened my mouth to say Of course, I must—and then shut it again. The concept didn’t bother me nearly as much as it should have. Skipping college would be crazy. Right? It was hard enough for a disabled person to find a job, but being disabled with no degree would make it hopeless. “I don’t have a choice.”“Perhaps you have more choices than you realize.

Thanks for driving me home, Mason. And for dinner. And…everything.”“You’re welcome.” His hand cupped my shoulder, his face in the shadows. “Was this a date?”“No.”His smile was a slash of white in the darkness. “Then you’re not expecting me to kiss you good-night.”“No.” I smiled back.“Too bad.

There it was again, that strange sensation. Sort of floaty. Completely lovely. “Why aren’t we kissing yet?”“The same question had crossed my mind.” He leaned closer and pressed his lips to mine.I could never get enough of this sweet, crazy kissing. How did anyone ever get anything done when they were falling in love?

May I kiss you?”Finally. “Yes.”He smiled as he threaded his fingers through my hair. Carefully, he leaned forward and kissed my forehead.His mouth was warm and gentle against my skin, but it wasn’t enough. “Please tell me that wasn’t what you meant.”He laughed softly. “There’s more.” He kissed my cheek, my jaw, and hovered a fraction above my mouth.I ached for his kiss, and when the waiting stretched too long, I closed the distance.He took over, which was just as well, because I forgot where I was or the time or my name. The only thing in the world was his mouth. That kiss. Us.

His arm slid around my shoulders and drew me to him. It was odd, sitting there under the veil of darkness, watching the neighborhood settle down. Lamps burned in windows. TVs flickered. A few houses down, the rhythmic thud of a basketball on concrete and muffled laughter alerted us to the only other people outside on this glorious fall night.“This is a perfect date,” I said.He tensed. “You’d call it a date?”“Sure. You wouldn’t?”He looked down at me, his eyes glittering in the faint light. “I thought American girls liked more formality in a date.”“More money is what you mean.” I smiled. “It’s a date. Don’t argue with me.”“I never do.

Friend. Before Mark, I’d known its definition. Now I knew its meaning.

What is the verdict?”“There is always hope.” His face softened. “However, it’s unlikely your brain damage will improve.”He’d given me the answer I’d expected and dreaded.I shut my eyes and sagged into the pillows. I’d braced myself for this result, but I’d wanted a miracle so badly that it was painful to hear the truth.Sunlight pressed in on me, trying to cheer me up. I would resist a moment longer. This room, the quilt, my closed eyes—they formed a serene barrier against the world, although it wasn’t clear to me if I wanted to keep the scary stuff out or the scared me in.

I loved her in ways I understood, full of physical aches and the need to be near her whenever I could. But I also loved her in ways that were unfamiliar, with an intensity that made me willing to attempt the impossible.

Obviously, genies worked out in their off-hours. He looked so good it was distracting.

We could’ve been a still photo, the kind from a booth at the mall where two dollars went in and a strip of three shots came out. Our image wasn’t the first shot, the one that was always frantic and unfocused. It wasn’t the second shot either--laughing and silly. No, this was the final image--the serious shot--where the couple realized they wanted a good picture to remember the moment by and couldn’t afford to screw the last one up.

I knew a sudden shyness. There was a look on his face, a stillness to his body that had never been there before. Though I couldn’t give the emotion a name, I felt it, too. We had something special. Something hard to define. Something past friendship.“I must go now,” I said and rose up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, marveling at its velvet skin. “Thank you for the book.”He drew me into his embrace and sighed. “Thank you for the stars.

Have you ever experienced human love?”“Yes. Once.”Regret shadowed his face. “Then why would you be willing to repeat it?”“What we learn is worth more than what we lose.