Chapter 23

chapter twenty-three I'm remembering the last time I felt this alone. This memory, though—it feels so real. Like it's more than just a memory. Like I'm there, back in those middle school halls.... I was at rock bottom. Crater city.

I remember clawing through my locker, looking for a bag of Fritos that I thought maybe I left in there, when— SMASH! My framed Certificate of Merit shattered against the floor. I won it for being the first ever sixth-grade senior editor of the school paper. I had hung it on my locker door. And there it was on the floor, lying in a pile of broken glass. But I didn't care. That dumb piece of paper didn't matter anymore, because NOTHING from my old life mattered anymore. And the weight of that hit me like a cannonball. Everything I'd envisioned for myself was gone. I had a PLAN for my future. I always had clear-cut goals. I had my future mapped out by first grade, when half my

classmates were still sucking Elmer's straight out of the tube. I used to play it in my head, like a movie, during that ninety-nine-second sprint to the bus every morning. And then on the bus. And, well, all the time. Youngest editor of the middle school paper: did that. Check mark. Then, it would be first slow dance at the eighth-grade formal, driver's license at sixteen, followed by starting midfielder

on the Hounds lacrosse team, taking us to the state championship. Then an internship at the Morning Horn News in the big city. Next, a scholarship to my first-choice college, graduate near the top of the class, then I'd move to the city, land my dream job at the Morning Horn, three years there and I'd be the paper's first female editor-in-chief— And y'know what else? Y'know what the biggest, best part of my big plan was? I was going to do all of it with my family cheering me on, watching me become the person I was supposed to become. But then the world was suddenly shattered. Just like the glass that held my dumb, useless Certificate of Merit. I stared at it, on the floor—thinking about how my hopes and dreams were dead, done, destroyed—just like the rest of the world.

My hand tightened around the spear in my hand, and I knew what I would do. I would break that too. And once it broke, once my only weapon was gone—then I'd be able to truly, fully GIVE UP. Anger rushed through me and I raised the spear and swung— I caught my breath. Gathered my strength. In a moment, I would bring that spear smashing down against the school's big fake gold lacrosse trophies! One final swing. And then, like I said, I could quit. I raised the spear high, drew up my strength, then— "JUNE! JUNE DEL TORO!" I spun around. My name. Someone was calling my name. Not the army, not my parents, not some super squad of armor-clad warriors come to rescue me.

No, it was a boy. The sound was distant and echoey, and I couldn't quite make it out at first. I realized—with a mix of shock, horror, and wonder—that it was freaking JACK SULLIVAN.... JACK SULLIVAN THE WEIRD NEW KID