I had started to feel like a bouncy ball with one flat side. When I was with Portia, it was as if someone had launched me high into the air. Yet the moment she was out of reach and I couldn't smell the scent of her shampoo or taste the hint of soap on her skin, I crashed to the ground and flew off in odd directions, springing erratically around until I finally settled into a pit of despair in a dusty corner. With no one around to chase my proverbial flight path, I was forgotten until her face lit up my cell phone screen or a text message lifted me from the cobwebs. Ernie and Hensley were on my ass about going back to Dr. Vanderhugh-a fate worse than death. I argued vehemently that my emotional swings were related to stress and not at all connected to grief. I'd long since packed that into a tidy box and stored it in the recesses of my mind, never to be opened again. Even still, every time one of them brought it up, it ripped off the emotional packing tape and exposed the loss again

I'd lain in bed with the lights off for hours last night, waiting for him to come home. There hadn't been any point in trying to close my swollen eyes, sleep wouldn't have taken over, anyhow. Not until I knew he was safe. While I stared at the ceiling, my eyes drifted out the window. It never ceased to amaze me that no matter how much turmoil took place on Earth, the moon and the stars didn't lose their luster. They shone just as bright, and they hung safely in the sky where they'd been for ages, unaffected by any raging storm below. If I could have found a way to reach one of them, I would have. It was funny in a non-comical sort of way, ironic, maybe-until I heard Jude close the front door and pad up the steps. I worried I'd been too quick to pass judgment. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I'd left him, knowing full well he was too high to drive, and something had happened. Yet, the sounds of his shoes taking the steps two or three at a time suddenly catapulted me

I retreated to the security of my bedroom. It was eerily quiet. Jude had turned the music off or put on headphones, and I hadn't so much as heard footsteps outside my door. There had been no sign of Ernie or Hensley, either. It was as though I were the only one in the house.Curled into a ball on my bed, I picked at Woobie's knotted fur, keeping the little bear close to my face. He reminded me of Jude, and if I closed my eyes and tried hard enough, I could smell Jude's scent on him. Or maybe that was my mind's way of comforting me through the most excruciating pain I ever remembered experiencing. When my mom died and I was in protective services-before I'd been placed with the Shaws-a counselor told me that with each day that passed, the hurt would subside a little more. Even as scared as I had been, I just never missed a mother who hadn't really existed. But the fear had done the same thing the lady said the pain would do. And I got to where I longed for the sun to come up just t

California was an adjustment. I'd only been there a few days, but the heat was a killer, and the people were different. Not in a bad way. Actually, I loved how liberal Berkeley seemed as a whole. Ethan and Carson both found menial jobs near the campus, which was within walking distance of the apartment, so I spent most of my days alone. I had met with Dr. Sarratt twice since I'd gotten here. He encouraged me to get out and walk around, see everything I could find that held any interest, and start writing. I wasn't certain I bought into the belief he had about journaling, but I committed to giving this my all. That meant playing by the rules. And I hadn't set the rules in this game.I tried to treat my notations about my excursions like a documentary on paper. When I viewed it as an exercise in evaluating my surroundings instead of my feelings, the words covered the pages. If I tried to analyze the ink on the page-zilch. It only took a couple of days before that notebook became my

"What the hell are you doing?" I snatched my journal from the hands of a nosy co-worker.She shrugged and contorted her face into an expression of equal indifference. "Just wondering what you spend so much time working on."I tucked the notebook into my backpack and slammed the locker. When I turned around, Lacy wore the same unbothered look. "So, you went through my locker, dug it out, and just thought you'd have a look around my private thoughts?"Lacy pulled out a chair from the table and placed herself in it with more fanfare than called for. "We work in a bookstore. Do you know how many people here are writing the next great American novel?" She paused, waiting for my answer. When she didn't get one, she popped a grape into her mouth and continued. "All of them. Including the ones who run the place." "And how does that justify breaking and entering?" I didn't have a clue what she'd read, or how deep into my thoughts she had been able to dig. My heart lay fully exposed on