"It is easy to connect with Austin because his journey is honorable.....Bostic's narrative is concise, chapters are short, and the story never lags. Her story is sad, but it is real and pulls no punches."--VOYA
"Bostic writes this graceful, affecting tale without pretension...Perhaps it's because of that simplicity that the story concludes with such a powerful emotional punch." --Kirkus
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
chapter one I had the dream again. The one where I’m running. I don’t know what from or where to, but I’m scared—terrified, really. I wake, shooting up, drenched in sweat. Jumping out of bed, I immediately head to my computer. I need to get some things done this weekend, and I’m running out of time. God, I hope Kaylee can help. What if she asks what I’m doing? I can’t tell her, can I? No. She’d try to stop me, I’m sure of it. Shit, I hope she doesn’t have to work. I should have checked. Without her Mustang, I may not be able to do this, and I want to, I need to. Otherwise, things may just continue as they always have: painful, motionless. Like treading water. You stay afloat, but you never really get anywhere. A flash, a flicker of life, that’s all I want. I don’t think it’s too much to ask. I sit at the computer and stare at the monitor, wondering where to begin. I need to make a list. It’s hard, but soon it all comes rushing to me—people, places, things. Over and over I think of Kaylee. I want her to be there. Need her to be beside me through all of it. I type until my thoughts die down, come to a stop. I hit print, grab the list, and shove it into the pocket of my jacket, hanging on my closet door. I look in the mirror. I’ve changed so much in the last year, physically, emotionally, mentally. I may be smaller now, but my heart and mind are stronger. These last few months I’ve come to realize that life doesn’t wait. If we stand still it passes us by, and by the time we understand that, it may be too late. The people I see this weekend—I hope they’re okay with this. I want them to take hold of it and not let go. I hope they at least listen. If they don’t, it will kill me. I grab a shoebox that’s been sitting in my closet. It held the new pair of green Converse high-tops my mom bought me before the school year started. Cool shoes. I take the lid off the box and put it on my bed. I pack the box with books, CDs, pictures, my poetry notebook, things that are important to me. I won’t have everything I need until Sunday night. On Monday, it goes to Kaylee’s for safekeeping. It’s late, and I have a full weekend ahead of me. I put the lid back on the shoebox, and place it on the top shelf of my closet. Out of sight. There’s no need for my mom to find it. She wouldn’t understand. I shut off the light and climb back into bed. My body’s tired, but my mind keeps working, churning. I’m anxious, nervous, thinking of what to say, what to do. Sleep comes with difficulty, but in the end, it still comes.