I look down and see my hands uncapping the pen, turning the notepad right-side up on my knees. My mouth is dry, my stomach is in knots, my life is over, my heart is broken.

I start to write.

When the doors are open big gusts of cold air sweep into the car, and suddenly it smells damp and earthly, that early smell that tells you all the snow and ice is melting and someday the sun will come out again.

And maybe it will, for some other girl.

Something about this small glimmer of happiness feels wrong, but I can't think about that. I just hold onto the glimmer, the shred. I let myself feel a tiny bit happy. Even though it kind of hurts.

Don't add silence to your list of regrets.

The thing about having one really good friend, one person you talk to all the time about everything, is that you stop really talking to anyone else. You sort of talk to other people, but mostly you have your one person and that's enough.

And then one day, maybe for a good reason or maybe out of nowhere, you can't talk to that friend anymore, and you suddenly realize you can't talk to anyone else. Like, it's physically impossible. No one understands you except that person. it's like you speak another language, and the other person who also speaks it is gone.

You're weird,' he says.
Despite everythin, I smile. 'You're always saying that, but in fact, you're weird,' I say.
'Yeah, I know. Remember? That's how I can tell you're weird, too.