Libby had asked what I would name my kids when I was older.

“Sam for a boy, Michaela for a girl,” I suggested. “And I won’t make them turn off their music because I think they’re too immersed in their own worlds…that’s the stupidest rule ever. They’ll be good children, but I won’t make them clean their total-disaster bedrooms. That’s an expectation I’ll never live up to.”

She smiled, then told me what she’d name her kids.

And when I thought back…he was the most painful memory. The kind of person I’d thought I’d loved. But at thirteen, you don’t seriously fall in love with someone, that was clear to me now.

Well, time to cut the sap. I’d be at school in three days. I just had to survive until then.