I haven't eaten a bite since I got the news. Death as a weight-loss tool.

Wonder if I could market that.

The thought makes me laugh. Mom gives me a sideways glance. But all it takes to sober me completely is reaching the casket. I've never seen Conner in a suit. That alone makes him look a lot like a mannequin. A suit is so not Conner. I'd rather remember him naked.

Next to me. Under the trees. On a blanket of pine needles. The memory catches in my throat. Did he ever think about that afternoon? Can he think about it now?

"Where are you, Conner?" I whisper.

"Can you hear me? Can you remember, wherever you are? Will you remember me, the way I will always remember you?"

I don't want to say good-bye, but Mom puts her arm around me. He'll remember you.

Sean

Good-bye Watching good-byes.

Long ones.

Quick ones.

Sad ones.

Angry ones.

People say good-bye in many ways.

How will people say good-bye to me?

How will people remember me?

I Didn't Hang Out With Conner. Didn't miss him when he wasn't at school after his so-called accident with the gun. That must have been on purpose too.

But I have to admit, seeing him dead, no more chances, no more choices, no more ways to make things better, is making me think. Rethink.

That Tony guy wasn't totally right. I mean, yeah, he was spot-on about other people's expectations, and how trying to live up to them can take a guy out. But fact is, I don't always play it safe.

I take calculated risks, always with a focused goal in sight. But sometimes I feel dead inside anyway.

Cara made me feel alive.

Maybe that's why I can't let her go. I don't want to feel dead anymore.

What I think is, I need to find a way to feel alive that doesn't require someone else to make it happen. I mean, putting a ball over the fence, and hearing people cheer for me, well, that's a solo effort, and a definite rush.

Dead people don't get rushes.

Getting into Stanford, mostly on my own willpower, that came close. It's the "mostly"

that bothers me. Am I really good enough to play Cardinal ball? I think the time has come to find out. To dry out. They're going to pee test us first thing anyway.

Up in front, Cara's girlfriend kisses her. Jealousy pierces me, but when Aubree comments, Oh my G.o.d. Isn't that, like, disgusting? Especially here.

I say, "Yeah, gross," but on some level, I think it's not so bad, really. And maybe the way it was always supposed to be. Cara was never meant for me. Pretty sure Aubree isn't either.

But I'm swearing off girls.

For a while. Long enough to know I don't need one.

Andre

Enough Mourning.

Enough.

Crying.

Enough.

Lamenting what can never be.

Enough.

Eulogizing.

Enough.

Second guessing.

Enough.

Apologizing for what you cannot change.

Play It Safe?

That's my middle name. Wait. Okay, my other middle name.

Andre Marcus Play-It-Safe Kane.

Can't in good faith add the III to that.

Gramps never played it safe. And neither did my father. So where did I get it from? Maybe from observing how taking chances sometimes leads to failure. Neither Gramps nor Dad hit the jackpot every time. Win some, lose some. The concept is integral both to innovation and speculation.

I mostly choose the path of least resistance.

Not because I'm lazy.

But because I hate to lose. Probably why I hung on to Jenna for so long, even though I knew our relationship was doomed. Not because of her father.

But because I tried to put her up on such a high pedestal. Obviously, Jenna is afraid of heights. I hope she finds the courage to stand on the pinnacle one day.

She deserves to be there.

But she has to learn to make the climb solo.

Speaking of solos, I have some rehearsing to do. Shantell and I rocked it as a couple. But the second audition is all solos. If I don't want to fail, I'd better put in some hours with Liana. I'll need my parents to help me pay for those lessons, so it's confession time.

I have to quit playing it safe eventually. Might as well be today.

The Wake Is officially over, except for the food part.

Death and hors d'oeuvres never did make much sense to me as a pairing.

Still, I ask Shantell, "Hungry? Looks like a pretty nice spread."

A long line has formed for the food tables.

Think I can skip it, she says. But we should go say good-bye to Cara.

The family stands at the far end of the hall.

Shantell and I join the receiving line, which rivals the food line.

"Did everybody in town know him or what?"

Apparently, n.o.body really knew him. Except maybe those two. She points at Tony and Vanessa, who comfort each other as only two people very much in love can. I hope to know love like that one day. Love you can't help but notice.

Cara

Love Is a curious thing. Sometimes it barrels into you, leaves you breathless. Other times, it comes in- to your life, a tentative beam of morning sun sneaking through the blinds, and you think this light isn't possible. The shutters are drawn. Night should linger on. I don't feel like waking. Yet the room comes slowly lit. Sleep slithers away, and at last you can no longer deny the dawning.

The Funeral Ma.s.s Is tomorrow. Mom allowed Dad to reclaim his Catholicism long enough to bury his son. One hour at the church. Fifteen minutes at the cemetery, and Conner will be left to the will of the earth-and G.o.d. The wake is winding down. The food is mostly gone, and so, mostly, are the mourners. More than I expected came to pay their last respects.

A few stragglers come late to talk to me privately. Kendra looks horrible, like she's forgotten food. She leaves her mother's side just long enough to say, I can't believe he's gone. I always kind of thought we'd have another chance. But deep down I guess I knew that was wishful thinking. Just ... not ... like this.

We hug, as we're supposed to do.

I watch her go, leaning on her mother, wonder if she'll be around next year, or if she might wind up starved, in a coffin.

Sean walks by with Aubree. I expect a smirk. Instead he offers a genuine smile, and I don't see anger in his eyes.

More something like ... regret.

Finally, as the room empties almost completely, Vanessa and Tony approach.

"Thank you so much for coming, and for your words. I think we all took them to heart." Meaningless banter. But they are strangers. What else can I say? That I am sad they knew my brother better than I did? Better than our parents did?

Vanessa looks ready to turn away, but Tony stops her. We have something to tell you. Something you might want to know. We were on the challenge with Conner. He was okay at first.

I mean, as usual, he was far out in front of us most of the way. But then he stopped taking his meds.

Things started going downhill.

He was edgy. Then, the last night before the climb, they gave us letters from home. After he ... uh ...

Vanessa and I found this, out in the desert. I think it drove him over.

He hands me the letter my mother wrote that night. And it is folded into ...

... a perfect paper airplane.

Author's Note

Daily, we are bombarded with messages telling us we aren't good enough. We're too fat. Too thin. Too stupid. Too ugly. Our body parts are too little. Too big. Too b.u.mpy. Too hairy. (Or if you're a middleaged man, not hairy enough.) It's important to understand that those messages come from all the wrong places. From companies who want money to make us "better." From people who want to take advantage of us; who are jealous of us; who feel better about themselves by making others feel unworthy.

Perfection is a ridiculous goal because there is no such thing. The definition of the word is subjective-it means different things to different people. The same person who is ugly in one estimation is beautiful in another. You've heard it before, but I want you to believe that real beauty is what you are inside. If you were my child, I would counsel you to invest your energy crafting inner beauty, because your outside will never please everyone anyway.