“There was never any question, not for either of us, that we'd stay together after high school. Richie Wilson was the love of my life.”

“The percentage of couples who stay together after high school is, like, less than five percent, you guys.”

“We were freshman, taking her film class, and we'd spend hours after school sitting in her classroom talking about any old thing—life, sex, Forrest Gump.”

“But we'd had only so many nights together, and the notebook had only so many pages, and that world was never going to get any bigger. The truth was that I couldn't have kept her even if she'd lived. At the end, we'd both been pushing at the walls of our secret world, pushing at each other. We'd given each other everything we could. It wasn't enough for either of us anymore.”

“I think about my choice. Either outcome is bleak. If I stay and live through high school, go to college, get a job, what will ever change? This blackness inside will never go away. I don't make friends; I'll always be alone. If I go, at least there's hope of peace. Chance of a new and better life on the other side.”

“Liz?""Hmmm?""Why do you care about me?"The question seems to startle me. It's uncharacteristic for Richie, who is usually so cool and self-assured. I open my eyes. "Why would you ask me that?""Because I don't understand. We're so different."I reach around the side of his face. Once again, I wipe fresh beads of sweat from his forehead. This time, I don't even bother wiping my hands on my pants. I lace my fingers into his again, and the two of us lie together, his damp clamminess seeping onto my made up face and my pretty clothes. Obviously, I couldn't care less."But we fit," I whisper. "Like this." And I tighten my grip around him."Mmm." He smiles, his eyes still closed. "You're right. We do.""Richie...I'm lying. I don't like you.""You don't?" His voice cracks. "No." I bring my lips close to his ear. "I love you Richie Wilson.”