We Are Not People Who

I Imagine The Wave Of Water Colliding With The Rock And Spilling Over The Tile Floor, Collecting Around My Shoes. Doing A Little At Once Can Fix Something, Eventually, But I Feel Like When You Believe That Something Is Truly A Problem, You Throw Everything You Have At It, Because You Just Can’t Help Yourself.

Color Fills Her Cheeks, And I Think It Again: That Johanna Reyes Might Still Be Beautiful. Except Now I Think That She Isn't Just Beautiful In Spite Of The Scar, She's Somehow Beautiful With It, Like Lynn With Her Buzzed Hair, Like Tobias With The Memories Of His Father's Cruelty That He Wears Like Armor, Like My Mother In Her Plain Gray Clothing.

I Don't Really Control The Story. I Just Let It Go Where It Wants To Go. I Have No Idea What's Going To Happen In The End Or Who's Going To Live, So It's Kind Of Like Me Saying, "i Don't Know, Guys! Just Wait." That's What I'm Doing!

When You're A Writer, You Hear Your Internal Critic, And That's Really Hard To Get Over. And Then Sometimes You Hear Critiques From Classmates And Stuff. But When A Book Comes Out, It's Just Hundreds Of Opinions And You Have To Learn To Separate Out The Ones You Want To Listen To Or Figure Out Many You Want To Listen To.

Then His Eyes Focus On Something Over My Shoulder, And He Starts Walking. I Turn To See Uriah Jogging From The Elevator Bank. He Is Grinning. “heard A Rumor You Were A Dirty Traitor,” Uriah Says. “yeah, Whatever,” Says Zeke. They Collide In An Embrace That Looks Almost Painful To Me, Slapping Each Other’s Backs And Laughing With Their Fists Clasped Between Them.