He smiles and takes his index finger and presses it to my lips, leaves it there until my heart lands on Jupiter: three seconds, then removes it, and heads back into the living room. Whoa - well, that was either the dorkiest or sexiest moment of my life, and I'm voting for sexy on account of my standing here dumbstruck and giddy, wondering if he did kiss me after all.
Jandy Nelson... if you're someone who knows the worst thing can happen at any time, aren't you also someone who knows the best thing can happen at any time too?
Jandy Nelson... every available inch of his face busts into a smile - whoa. Has he blown into our school on a gust of wind from another world? The guy looks unabashedly jack-o'-lantern happy, which couldn't be more foreign to the sullen demeanor most of us strove to perfect.
Jandy NelsonI can't believe Gram just said sex appeal.
Jandy NelsonHis face is more open than an open book, like a wall of graffiti really. I realize I'm writing wow on my thigh with my finger, decide I better open my mouth and snap us out of this impromptu staring contest.
Jandy NelsonGrief is forever. It doesn't go away; it becomes part of you, step for step, breath for breath.
Jandy NelsonMusic: what life, what living itself sounds like.
Jandy NelsonAt night,
when we were little,
we tented Bailey's covers,
crawled underneath with our flashlights
and played cards: Hearts,
Whist, Crazy Eights, and our favourite: Bloody Knuckles.
The competition was vicious,
All day, every day,
we were the Walker Girls -
two peas in a pod
thick as thieves -
but when Gram closed the door
for the night,
we bared our teeth.
We played for chores,
for slave duty,
for truths and dares and money.
We played to be better, brighter,
to be more beautiful,
more,
just more.
But it was all a ruse -
we played
so we could fall asleep
in the same bed
without having to ask,
so we could wrap together
like a braid,
so while we slept
our dreams could switch bodies.
(Found written on the inside cover of Wuthering Heights, Lennie's room)
When I'm with him,
there is someone with me
in my house of grief,
someone who knows
its architecture as I do,
who can walk with me,
from room to sorrowful room,
making the whole rambling structure
of wind and emptiness
not quite as scary, as lonely
as it was before.
That's exactly it—I am crazy sad, and somewhere deep inside, all I want is to fly.
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