I Don't Talk About My Books While

With Total Strangers, It Had Always Been My Policy To Expect The Worst. Usually They-and Those That You Knew Best, For That Matter-did Not Disappoint.

He Was The Closest Thing I'd Ever Had To Something, Or Someone, That Mattered. But In The End, Close Didn't Count. You Were Either In, Or You Weren't.

I Was Actually Pretty Miserable In High School. I Couldn't Wait For It To Be Over. And When It Finally Was, I Remember Sitting At Graduation With All These Classmates Getting Nostalgic And Emotional Already And All I Could Think Was, "get Me Out Of Here. I Never Want To See You People Again." So It's Ironic That I Spend Half My Day Putting Myself Back There By Choice [while Writing].

As If He Was Beating Me To The Punch, His Words Living Forever, While I Was Left Speechless, No Rebuttal, No Words Left To Say.

No," I Snapped. "i Mean, No. I'm Answering. I'm Just Collecting My Response." Another Few Seconds Passed. Is There A Time Limit For This?" He Asked. I Shot Him A Look. "just Wondering.