Sadie thinks for a minute. "She looked like a cross between my grandma and Betty White. I remember she was wearing a sweater with Christmas trees sewn on the front." She blows her nose. Sighs. "s.h.i.t. I came here to cheer you up, not the other way around."

"You did cheer me up," I say. Which is true.

She b.u.mps her shoulder into mine. "You're a good friend, Lex."

No, I'm not, I think. "You're a good friend, too," I answer. "I'm glad you saw me running that night. I'm glad you took the time to figure out why."

"Hey, I was serious when I said we should start running together again," she says. "Just as soon as the weather warms up. You and me. Jogging."

"Don't push your luck," I say.

She smiles, the traces of tears still silver on her cheeks.

IT'S FUNNY HOW SOMETIMES YOU DON'T SEE the obvious things coming. You think you know what life has in store for you. You think you're prepared. You think you can handle it. And then-boom, like a thunderclap-something comes at you out of nowhere and catches you off guard. Like on Wednesday, when Ashley Davenport ambushes me before first period.

She's there on the other side of my locker door when I close it. I jump a mile.

"Hi," she says.

She's dyed her hair again, a deep, glossy brown this time. It suits her, makes her face all about her huge blue eyes, which are focused on me like laser beams. Concerned. Determined.

"I've been hoping to catch you."

"Um-okay?"

"I saw you at Patrick's wake," she says, her voice hoa.r.s.e like she has a cold.

She doesn't offer me any other explanation. She simply takes off her backpack and puts it on the floor and pulls out a familiar, tattered envelope.

For Ashley, it reads.

"I think you should read this," she says.

"Oh" is all I can think to say. I'm frozen. I don't really understand what's happening here. I thought that envelope was gone for good, that I'd never know what was in it, but here she is offering the letter, like what he had to tell her concerns me, somehow.

I swallow, hard. The text. The text.

"Do you want to go somewhere else? Like the library?" she asks.

"But don't you have cla.s.s?"

The bell rings. She shrugs and smiles faintly. "I can be late."

We go to the library. No one bothers us as we make our way to the lonely corner behind the stack, where Ashley holds out the letter.

My hands tremble as I take it.

"I want it back. So I'll be over there." She tilts her head to indicate the study tables in the center of the library. "Take as much time as you want."

Then it's just me and the letter.

I slide it out of its envelope. The paper crackles as I unfold it.

It's dated December 10. Ten days before Ty died.

I take a shaky breath and slide myself down against the corner, draw my knees up to my chest, and I read.

Dear Ashley, I wanted to write you this letter to explain why I broke it off with you.

First, I have to say I'm sorry for how I did it. I didn't know what to say to you or how to explain the truth about how I feel, so I went with the old cliche "this isn't working for me," which made it sound like the problem was you.

It's not you.

You're the most amazing girl I've ever known. You are beautiful-but I think I should list smart first, because you are so crazy smart, and that's what I first noticed about you-that for such a gorgeous girl you sure had your head on straight, you're a girl who knows things, and you had all these ideas and these complex thoughts about life. You're beautiful, too. You know that. People always tell you that. Sometimes when I would look at you it used to make my chest hurt, how beautiful you were. And you're funny. Remember that time you made me laugh so hard I snorted chocolate milk up my nose? But you didn't make a big deal over it, and that's because you're nice, you're nice to everybody. You're always considering how other people feel. I think that's what I admire most about you, how sweet you are in this world that's full of c.r.a.p.

Sorry.

So it's really not about you, Ash. Please believe me when I say write that. You are perfect.

This is my problem.

The other night when I kind of freaked out on you-sorry for that too btw-you were trying to get me to talk about my dad, and I said I hated my dad, and you got this surprised look, like you didn't know I was the type of person who could hate someone. Who could hate my dad.

But I am.

That's when I saw how messed up I am. And I saw myself so clearly right then, and it was like I could also see the future.

You're so perfect and you're so beautiful and you're so kind and when I'm with you, I want to be those things, too, I want to be the best person but the truth is, I can't.

I'm messed up.

I go through phases where I think everything's going to be okay and the sky is blue and stuff and I can feel the sun and the air going in and out of my lungs and I think, life is good. But then every time, I also know deep down that the darkness is coming. And it's going to keep coming. And when I'm in the darkness I'm going to screw up everything. And if you're with me that's when I'm going to screw you up, too.

You deserve better than that.

You've got good friends and awesome parents and this amazing life ahead of you. You need to have a boyfriend who will be part of that. Not me.

My sister has a boyfriend, and she's so into him and she's freaked out that she's so into him, because that's how she is, but when I see them together, I think, they work. Most couples in high school you know aren't going to work out, and maybe that's how it should be. But with them, it's so obvious that they're right for each other. They make each other better, somehow. They fit.

You and me, Ash, we don't fit. You're like the sun and I'm like a big black cloud.

I'd always be darkening your skies.

I've tried, but I can't fix myself. I can't change it. So I did the right thing, letting you go. You'll see. It may take a little bit of time, but you'll understand.

I wish I had the guts to tell you this out loud, or even give you this letter, but I probably won't. Still, I'm glad I wrote it. Putting it into words, on paper, helped me understand some things. I get it, now.

Don't cry any more tears over me, Ash. I'm not worth it. But I want you to know, in case I ever do give you this letter and you read it first before you burn it or something, that for just a little while, you made me feel like I was really alive. Like I was special.

Thanks for that.

Thanks for picking me to be the one who got to stand in your sunshine for a while. I'll carry that around with me for the rest of my life-that you saw enough good in me that you wanted to hold my hand and kiss me and smile at me like I was the only guy.

Be happy.

Love, Ty My chest feels like it's in a vise, tightening, tightening. I brush my fingers over the words, Ty's words in Ty's messy print, and over the stains on the paper where Ashley's tears must have dropped when she read it. I read the letter again. And again. I try to memorize every word.

I sit there for a long time.

The bell for second period rings. The library stirs as if, up till now, time has been stopped, but it's going again. I find Ashley at the back table. When she looks up at me, her face wrinkles up like she's going to cry, but she contains it.

I hand her back the letter.

"Thank you for letting me read this."

"He was wrong, though." Her voice breaks. "I'm not perfect. I have dark days, too." She wipes a tear off her pale cheek. "I could have helped him, if he would have let me. If he'd just given me the letter himself."

"I'm sorry," I say.

She looks up with shining eyes. "No. Thank you, for giving it to me when you did."

I can't talk. I nod. She nods.

Then we both have to move on.

20 March In the last photograph ever taken of Ty and Dad together, from back when we were still a family, they're playing chess.

June 24 is the date my mom scrawled on the back of the photo. The summer I was 14 and Ty was 12. The year before Dad traded us for Megan.

I remember that day.

There was a tornado-an F4 on the Fujita scale, and if you speak the tornado lingo, which pretty much everybody in Nebraska does, you'll know that's not the most powerful tornado (the F5 is), but it's still big enough to take out a town like Raymond. When the sirens started going off, the twister had formed 20 miles north of us. The sky turned green. Mom herded us all into the bas.e.m.e.nt to wait out the storm.

We watched the news for a while on television, where a map of the area kept showing the tornado hovering above us, a swirling cartoon cyclone slowly moving in our direction.

Then Dad suggested a game of chess.

He'd been through his chess obsession a couple years before and hadn't played since. But there in the bas.e.m.e.nt den was the beautiful mahogany board he'd purchased back then, and the marble pieces, and what else was there to do while we waited?

I played first. I lost. Spectacularly, if I remember correctly. In spite of my math affinity I'm not much good at chess. I'm shortsighted; I can't predict that far ahead, to the other player's choices and moves. I only see the pieces in front of me and react.

I wasn't surprised when I lost. I'd never won against Dad. He's not the type to let his kids win just so they'll feel good about themselves. In his chess phase I must have lost a hundred games to him, and every time he'd take my king, he'd say, "Well played, Lexie. You're getting better. One of these days you're going to beat me."

But I never did.

So on June 24, when I was 14 and stuck in the bas.e.m.e.nt with my family and a chessboard, I played, and I lost. I stuck out my tongue at Dad, and he chuckled at me, and then he said, "Tyler. You're up."

Ty took his place on his side of the board with the look of an excited puppy.

Oh boy, I remember thinking. This is going to be quick.

But almost right away he made a move that surprised Dad.

"Where'd you learn that?" Dad asked, squinting down at the board.

Ty shrugged. "Is it a bad move?"

"No," Dad said distractedly. "No, that was an excellent move. There's a name for it, even, if I can just remember it."

Before long Ty made another excellent move. And another. And another.

Before long he was clearly winning the game.

Then we had to stop for a bit when the sky went black. The lights flicked out. We all went into the bathroom with candles, where the pipes would provide some extra protection if the wind ripped the top of the house away. Ty and I got into the empty bathtub with the emergency radio. Dad sat on the counter with his arm around Mom.

"The Caro-Kann Defense," he said after a minute. "That's it."

Yep, we were possibly about to die, and Dad was still marveling at Ty's chess moves.

I looked at Ty. He had a secret smile.

We didn't have to stay in the bathroom long.

The tornado skimmed by Raymond and carried on to the east, where it took out a whole string of farms before it dissipated, and we could come out of the bathroom.

Ty and Dad went right back to their game. Mom and I sat on either side of them, holding up candles to light the board, and watched it all go down, a rapt audience as Ty moved around the board like a pro. The whole time Dad looked so confused. I mean, Ty was 12 years old. When Dad had gone through his chess phase before, Ty had been like 10. He hadn't even really grasped the rules of chess.

"How are you doing this?" Dad asked finally when Ty took his queen.

"I've been playing a little on the computer," Ty confessed. He sat back. "Checkmate."

Mom and I crowed. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen," Mom said, and I think she got a little too much satisfaction out of Ty winning, because she also had lost a hundred games to Dad.

"I have to get a picture," she said. So that's when the photo happened.

In the picture, Ty has just won the game and he's practically glowing, he's so happy. Dad is looking down, beaten, but he is smiling, too.

He was proud.

"Well done, son," he said. He clapped his hand on Ty's shoulder and squeezed. "Want to go again?"

Ty shook his head. "I better quit while I'm ahead."

The power came back on. We all blinked in the sudden brightness of the room. Ty grinned over at Dad. "I have this new game on the Wii. Tennis. Do you want to try to beat me there? Loser buys McDonald's?"

"Sure," Dad said. "You bet."

Sucker.