“What does it feel like?” he asked.“What does what feel like?”Peter thought for a moment. “Being at the top.”Josie reached across him for another packet of material and fed it into the stapler. She did three ofthese, and Peter was certain that she was going to ignore him, but then she spoke. “Like if you takeone wrong step,” she said, “you’re going to fall.”

“If she spoke, she would tell him the truth: she was not okay at all, but horribly empty, now that she knew what it was like to be filled.”

“Chicken,' Josie said. 'Have you ever been in love?'Peter looked at Josie, and thought of how they had once tied a note with their addresses to a helium balloon and let it go in her backyard, certain it would reach Mars. Instead, they had received a letter from a widow who lived two blocks away. 'Yeah,' he said. 'I think so.”

“She stared at Peter, and she realized that in that one moment, when she hadn't been thinking, she knew exactly what he'd felt as he moved through the school with his backpack and his guns. Every kid in this school played a role: jock, brain, beauty, freak. All Peter had done was what they all secretly dreamed of: be someone, even for just nineteen minutes, who nobody else was allowed to judge.”

“What’s your name again?”“Peter. Peter Granford.”Lewis opened up his mouth to speak, but then just shook his head.“What?” The boy ducked his head. “You just, uh, looked like you were going to say somethingimportant.”Lewis looked at this namesake, at the way he stood with his shoulders rounded, as if he did notdeserve so much space in this world. He felt that familiar pain that fell like a hammer on hisbreastbone whenever he thought of Peter, of a life that would be lost to prison. He wished he’dtaken more time to look at Peter when Peter was right in front of his eyes, because now he would beforced to compensate with imperfect memories or-even worse-to find his son in the faces ofstrangers.Lewis reached deep inside and unraveled the smile that he saved for moments like this, when therewas absolutely nothing to be happy about. “It was important,” he said. “You remind me of someoneI used to know.”

“Everyone would remember Peter for nineteen minutes of his life, but what about the other nine million? Lacy would be the keeper of those, because it was the only way for that part of Peter to stay alive. For every recollection of him that involved a bullet or a scream, she would have a hundred others: of a little boy splashing in a pond, or riding a bicycle for the first time, or waving from the top of a jungle gym. Of a kiss good night, or a crayoned Mother's Day card, or a voice off-key in the shower. She would string them together - the moments when her child had been just like other people's. She would wear them, precious pearls, every day of her life; because if she lost them, then the boy she had loved and raised and known would really be gone.”

“As Lacy waited for her turn to speak on Peter's behalf, she thought back to the first time she realized she could hate her own child.”