In the following days, I did not enjoy the luxuries of Heaven, and neither did my parents. Heaven was absolutely beautiful, of course, and beyond anything my imagination could dream up; the rivers were the golden colour of honey, the skies would alternate between a tie-dye of deep blue and white, and then orange-purple later in the day. There were fruits that we have never seen before, places to explore that we never would have thought existed. The air always smelled of fresh mint and dewdrops, and everyone was carefree and happy.

But every time I passed by my parents, they were chewing their nails or staring off into space, tension and anxiousness always hanging in the air above us. My parents were giving me the space I needed to make my decision. If I wanted, I could bring my brother up to Heaven any time I wished, and we could be a happy family again. All I would have to do is tell the Guardian of Heaven my wish, and then Adam's soul would rise up to Heaven. No pain of death, no fear; he would simply be brought up to Heaven one night in his sleep. I could do this any time that I wanted, but of course, I wanted to watch over him first and see how he was doing down on Earth. This was actually his decision, not my own.

So every day in the following weeks, as soon as the sun rose in Atlanta, I would come down to Earth and find my brother. I always passed by my old house on the way to meeting him, or, at least, what was left of our old house. I always stopped and stared in awe at the ruins; the rubble and ashes, the walls dry and crumbled in like pastries... Not much had survived the fire. Adam was left with no family, no home, and only a handful of objects that had survived the fire. He stayed in our aunt's house for the following days. He was evasive and distant, only speaking when spoken to, only ever mumbling incoherent, one word responses. My aunt Tulisa was especially kind to him; she made him his favourite meals and only spoke to him about happy things, even if he did not respond. Adam made sure not to be trouble at all; he never took seconds at dinner, and he kept the room he was staying in well kempt. He continued going to his part-time job at the local bookstore, and he continued trying to find inspiration to write a book, a story, even a basic haiku to get the gears in his mind whirring again. But every time he sat down to write, all he would end up with would be a blank sheet of paper, a freshly sharpened pencil, and a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach.

My brother Adam was an avid writer. He was the boy born with a sharp tongue and a pencil between his teeth. He started writing poems when he was only in kindergarten, and ever since he discovered the power he possessed with only a pencil and paper, he had not stopped writing. But now, his mind was blank, his heart aching, and his notebook empty... It was odd seeing him like this; Adam had always been this adventurous guy who would come back home every evening from some party or concert with a wide grin spread across his face and a million thoughts to spill on paper. He would then be crouched over his desk, typing away at his laptop, his eyes somewhere far, far away... and wherever he was, he was happy.  Now here he was, blank faced and teary eyed, holding my father's old glasses. I lean over my brother's shoulder to glance at Dad's glasses; they were one of the very few things that had not perished in the fire. Adam took a long, hard look at the broken lens, the half-melted glass. And the next thing he knew, he was picking up a pen and writing the words that came to his mind:

Sometimes I bring your old glasses to my eyes
And look through the murky lens
To try to see the world in the beautiful way that you always did
It is the only piece of you that I have left;
The only physical evidence that you were once here with me
But there is a crack down the middle of the glass that is deepening over time
The hinges are coming loose
And the image through the glass is foggy and disoriented...
The only piece of you that I have left 
Is crippling and falling apart 
I have lost you
And this just feels like I am losing you 
All over again

In the following days, I did not enjoy the luxuries of Heaven, and neither did my parents. Heaven was absolutely beautiful, of course, and beyond anything my imagination could dream up; the rivers were the golden colour of honey, the skies would alternate between a tie-dye of deep blue and white, and then orange-purple later in the day. There were fruits that we have never seen before, places to explore that we never would have thought existed. The air always smelled of fresh mint and dewdrops, and everyone was carefree and happy.

But every time I passed by my parents, they were chewing their nails or staring off into space, tension and anxiousness always hanging in the air above us. My parents were giving me the space I needed to make my decision. If I wanted, I could bring my brother up to Heaven any time I wished, and we could be a happy family again. All I would have to do is tell the Guardian of Heaven my wish, and then Adam's soul would rise up to Heaven. No pain of death, no fear; he would simply be brought up to Heaven one night in his sleep. I could do this any time that I wanted, but of course, I wanted to watch over him first and see how he was doing down on Earth. This was actually his decision, not my own.

So every day in the following weeks, as soon as the sun rose in Atlanta, I would come down to Earth and find my brother. I always passed by my old house on the way to meeting him, or, at least, what was left of our old house. I always stopped and stared in awe at the ruins; the rubble and ashes, the walls dry and crumbled in like pastries... Not much had survived the fire. Adam was left with no family, no home, and only a handful of objects that had survived the fire. He stayed in our aunt's house for the following days. He was evasive and distant, only speaking when spoken to, only ever mumbling incoherent, one word responses. My aunt Tulisa was especially kind to him; she made him his favourite meals and only spoke to him about happy things, even if he did not respond. Adam made sure not to be trouble at all; he never took seconds at dinner, and he kept the room he was staying in well kempt. He continued going to his part-time job at the local bookstore, and he continued trying to find inspiration to write a book, a story, even a basic haiku to get the gears in his mind whirring again. But every time he sat down to write, all he would end up with would be a blank sheet of paper, a freshly sharpened pencil, and a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach.

My brother Adam was an avid writer. He was the boy born with a sharp tongue and a pencil between his teeth. He started writing poems when he was only in kindergarten, and ever since he discovered the power he possessed with only a pencil and paper, he had not stopped writing. But now, his mind was blank, his heart aching, and his notebook empty... It was odd seeing him like this; Adam had always been this adventurous guy who would come back home every evening from some party or concert with a wide grin spread across his face and a million thoughts to spill on paper. He would then be crouched over his desk, typing away at his laptop, his eyes somewhere far, far away... and wherever he was, he was happy.  Now here he was, blank faced and teary eyed, holding my father's old glasses. I lean over my brother's shoulder to glance at Dad's glasses; they were one of the very few things that had not perished in the fire. Adam took a long, hard look at the broken lens, the half-melted glass. And the next thing he knew, he was picking up a pen and writing the words that came to his mind:

Sometimes I bring your old glasses to my eyes
And look through the murky lens
To try to see the world in the beautiful way that you always did
It is the only piece of you that I have left;
The only physical evidence that you were once here with me
But there is a crack down the middle of the glass that is deepening over time
The hinges are coming loose
And the image through the glass is foggy and disoriented...
The only piece of you that I have left 
Is crippling and falling apart 
I have lost you
And this just feels like I am losing you 
All over again

"What are you going to do from now on?" Aunt Tulisa asked Adam one day, as they were sat at the dining table and having their evening tea. Adam had been running through the same routine every day since he arrived at my aunt's house; he woke up bright and early and worked, then came back home, ate supper, and spent the rest of the evening in his temporary room, struggling to form his thoughts into words. I was fazed by how cynical my positive brother had become; he was careful not to love, and he avoided feeling any kind of emotional attachment toward anyone. He did not want to love, because he felt that he was better off having nothing to lose. He was kind, of course, and he stayed in touch with people close to him. But he had just become emotionally unattached from everything and everyone.

"Well, I am glad you asked," my brother replied, putting his cup of tea down on the table and smiling at Aunt Tulisa. "I have been gathering my money that I was originally earning for university, but instead, I bought a plane ticket for New York."

Aunt Tulisa paused in surprise and put down her cup. This statement took me by surprise as well. "Really?" she asked. Adam nodded, smiling faintly.

"I know what you are going to say," he replied. "I know, because you value education more than anything. You think that I should stay in Atlanta and study in university and make new friends... but honestly, that will not make me happy right now. I will go to university eventually, of course, but I would like to take a gap year this year. I need to get away. I need to go to a new city, start fresh, anonymous, and just get some inspiration for my writing. I just need a healthy escape." Adam slouched back in his chair a bit, hugging his warm tea cup to his chest. "I know that this will make me happy. And I know that this is what my parents and Emilia would want; for me to be happy."

Tulisa nodded slowly and mimicked my brother's position. "Happiness comes before everything, Adam," she assured him. "If you think this is what you want, then go for it. In fact, I encourage you to do this. When are you leaving?"

"I've got the plane ticket for this weekend."

"That soon?" I saw Aunt Tulisa forehead wrinkle in worry. Being the protective aunt she is, she was afraid of letting her nephew go so soon. "Very well. Let's go out tomorrow and buy you some more basic necessities, and you can begin packing up." She held Adam's hands from across the table. "Do you think you can do this?" she asked. "Do you think you will be okay going to New York alone?" My aunt was very aware of how alone my brother had been feeling lately, and the thought of him living in a city full of strangers made her feel anxious.

Adam smiled gently. "I will be better than okay," he assured, more to himself than to Tulisa. "This is what I need."

So he set off for New York that weekend. He did not have much to bring along with him, just a light weight suitcase and a heavy heart. As the plane began to lift off, my brother began to feel even more alone. He felt like he was leaving his family behind, leaving all of our memories and good times behind. But then he scrolled through photos on his phone to make himself feel better. There was one photo where he was piggybacking me in the park and we were both smiling goofily at the camera. Then there were photos of the last Christmas we spent together, and he did not know if he wanted to laugh or cry. I sat with him the entire plane ride, holding his hand, and he did not even know it.

He arrived in New York that night. He was greeted by neon lights and tall buildings reaching up to touch the stars. He knew that he was anonymous. He knew that no one knew his name. But in the crowds of people bustling by him, he felt more alive and at home than he had in a very long time.

His one-bedroom apartment was in the heart of the city. He was greeted by bare white walls and an enormous window in the living room overlooking the city. He was living on his own for the first time ever, and this both terrified him and excited him. It was almost midnight, but despite the fact that he was tired and just wanted to curl  up in his blanket and go to sleep, he kept his eyes peeled open. And he decorated his house with whatever little stuff he had brought with him. He filled up the cupboards with whatever food he had. He put up a little shelf in his room and put up his books and awards on display. He hung up posters of "The Script" and "Bon Iver" and "Coldplay". And on the fridge, he stuck up little photos of all of us as a family, forming a little collage. Before he knew it, he abandoned his task of setting up his apartment and instead resorted to flipping through an old family photo album. He fell asleep in the middle of his new bedroom, holding a photo of the two of us when we were toddlers against his chest.

April got ready early that morning. She intended to do some investigating to figure out how the fire had been caused. The reason may or may not have been discovered by now, but it definitely had not been released to public. She had been tossing and turning all night, wondering and wondering and flipping through all the possibilities of how the fire could have been caused. But she could not find answers lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. She needed to do something about it. She wore an oversized plaid shirt that morning and put her hair high up in a messy ponytail. "Where are you going?" her mother asked as April came down the stairs.

"I'm just going for a walk around the neighbourhood," she replied, grabbing an orange off the kitchen counter.

"Please have some breakfast first," Mrs Lowry said gently.

"I'm not really hungry, Mom." She sat at a stool at the counter and picked at her orange.

"April, you are worrying me," Mrs Lowry whispered. She tilted up her daughter's face, looking at her closely. "Look at how skinny and pale you have become. You need to take care of yourself." April sighed deeply and nodded briskly.

"I know. I'm sorry. I- I don't want to worry you. I just have a lot on my mind."

"I understand it must be difficult, what you're going through. But I know that Emilia would want you taking care of yourself. She would not want to see you like this."

"Mom, I don't want to talk about Emilia," April mumbled. I cannot pretend that that did not hurt me, because it did. It felt like a knife went through my chest when she said this.

Mrs Lowry looked up in concern. "Did you two have a fight before she...?"

"No, it isn't like that. It's just... It hurts talking about her. I feel like, I- I just-"

"There is something you are not telling me." April's mother leaned forward on her stool. "You can tell me anything, you know that, right?"

April nodded slowly. She had always had a special bond with her mother. Her mother was her best friend. She never judged her. She always understood, always had some kind of useful advice to give. And anything April told her mother did not leave the room. "Mom... I have this feeling that Emilia died... because of me..."

"And why do you say this?" Mrs Lowry did not act as I assumed she would; she did not freak out or begin yelling at April. She kept her composure so as not to scare her daughter away.

"I don't know, Mom." April wanted to tell her mom everything, but this was one of the very few things she could not tell her.

"You did not cause her death, April! That is ridiculous. Look," she said, getting her daughter to meet her eyes, "Everyone's time is set. Unfortunately not everyone lives until their eighties. God has already set a time for us, and there is nothing we can do about it. The moment we are born, God already knows how we will die. We tend to forget that everyone has to leave. When people die, we tend to blame ourselves, judging every one of our prior actions and wondering if we did anything to  cause what happened. I know, trust me. That day, when your father died, I let him take the car past midnight..." April squeezed her mother's hands gently, insisting that she did not have to continue talking about Mr Lowry. But Mrs Lowry wanted to continue.

"I sometimes wonder how different things would be if I did not let him take out the car. But I also wonder if things would be different if he took the car during the day, or if he ran out of gas and could not leave. I would always flip through all of the possibilities, all the 'what if's'. But no one is to blame for death. Death is inevitable, and just because Emilia and her parents are gone does not mean that you have to contemplate everything you said and did before the fire. You are not to blame, April. Hey." She tilted up her daughter's chin again. "Look at me. You did not do this. It happened, so it happened. And I am so, so sorry all of this happened. I am so sorry you have lost two people very close to you. But no one is at fault for anyone's death. No one."

"Mom... Oh my goodness." April got off the stool to embrace her mother, who had gotten teary eyed and choked up talking about her husband. "Why have you never told me about this? About Dad?"

"Because I didn't think it was important to bring up," she replied softly. "Until now, of course."

"Dad's death was not your fault, Mom"

"I know. Of course, I know..." She dabbed her eyes a bit and sniffled. "I just wanted to give you some advice, that's all." April stepped back and looked at her mother; her shiny eyes, her shaky, fragile hands... Before her husband died, Mrs Lowry was a lively and adventurous woman. She never sat still. She could not stand women who stayed home and knitted and cooked all day. She was always up and about. But when her husband died, it was like a big part of her had died along with him. Her passions, her goals, her smiles... they all disappeared. When it had only been a week since his death, April's mom looked like she had aged so much, and she had lost her motivation for everything. Ever since, she has been growing too old too fast. She was no longer the happy and youthful soul she used to be. The only person that she smiled for anymore was her daughter.

"You are all that I have got, you know that, Mom?" she whispered. "Thank you. Thank you for all that you have done for me." Mrs Lowry nodded gently and stood up. She retrieved an egg salad sandwich from the refrigerator and placed it in front of her daughter.

"Please take this with you," she told her. "And don't be back too late."

April nodded and picked up the paper bag. "Of course. Don't worry, I won't be long. I love you!" And with that, April was out of the door.

She walked over to my old house, and she took in the horrible remains of the fire; the beautiful red and white house was now charred rubble lying on the ground. Only a couple of walls were still standing feebly. There were people all over the premises cleaning up the remains and planning the construction of a new house. "Excuse me!" April jogged up to a man who looked the least busiest out of everyone. He was leaning against a van and drinking water.  "Do you know how this fire started?" April asked. "I knew the people that lived here, my friend and her parents."

The man sighed and put down his water. "Well, nothing is certain yet, but they have some possible ideas of what caused it," the man replied, using a stump of wood as a footrest. "But even if I did know, I wouldn't be allowed to tell you. I'm very sorry." April nodded in response, realizing that his apology had two meanings. He looked over pitifully at my old house, and April followed the man's gaze. He was looking at the roof that had fallen in. "I really am very sorry for your loss," he said sincerely. "I haven't seen destruction this bad in a very long time. Barely anything had survived the fire." She nodded, unable to speak.

April decided to continue her walk. She had to get away from my old house and clear up her mind. She kicked a pebble in the path, sending dust flying everywhere. Her hands automatically went to her big, baggy pockets to retrieve her cigarette pack, out of instinct. It was an automatic stress reliever for her. No one could understand that. She thought back to a recent memory, only a couple of weeks before my death. We had been lying in the grass. I had gently said to her, when she had come back from a smoking break, "Those things are no good for you, you know. You really need to stop smoking before things get out of hand."

"Things are already out of hand. I don't know how to stop," she had replied, gazing up at the clouds. "When I'm stressed or sad, it immediately calms my nerves."

She realized that she would have no trouble now to quit smoking; not because I had told her to stop, not because she found a healthy method to release her stress, but because she was terrified of them. She was terrified of herself, of what she potentially could have done. Then turned the pack in her hands a few times before walking to the nearest garbage bin and throwing them away.

***
Adam wanted to spend his first few days in New York sightseeing and taking random buses going anywhere. He wanted to stop at every diner and try new foods and explore and buy furniture for his new home. After all, this was the city he had always dreamt of visiting. New York had only ever existed in his scrapbooks and wall posters. He used to feel like he knew the city inside out, even though he had never even been before. So now that he was in the heart of this beautiful city, he wanted to let loose and have some fun. But he knew that the wise and most obvious thing to do would be to try to find a job. It did not matter what kind of job; he just wanted to work at a place with reasonable pay and loads of people. Adam could never stand solitude, especially not nowadays. He was afraid of being alone with his mind. He needed other people's chatter to be loud enough to voice over Adam's own thoughts.

It was not long before he stumbled upon a "Help Wanted" sign in the window of an ostentatious cafe. Or at least it was called a cafe; "Ninth Street Cafe". But it definitely did not look like one. Curiosity got the best of him, so my brother decided to go inside and take a look around.

He was immediately welcomed by an aura of excitement and the scent of warm cinnamon buns and coffee. All around him were tables full of chipper, exuberant people talking and laughing and giving rounds of applause. The cafe was enormous to say the least. There were dozens of these tables in the cafe, all of which were occupied by loud and excited people. The room was dimly lit, even though it was the middle of the day. But when Adam looked toward the front of the cafe, he understood the soft lighting and the roaring whistling and applause.

There was a little stage at the front of the room. There was a piano up there, which was being played by a young, fancy-looking fellow with hair sleeked back and a nice tuxedo. Adam could not see who was at the microphone, so he sat at one of the very few empty seats closer to the stage to get a better look at the performer.

The girl was petite and quite young-looking, presumably about Adam's age. She had gorgeous, slightly dishevelled red hair that looked even redder under the luminescent stage lights. Even from the distance, he could see her blue eyes and picture-perfect smile. She shyly gave a little bow when the crowd did not stop applauding. And although Adam had not heard her singing, he clapped along.

The girl left the stage, and the man at the piano began to introduce the next performer. Adam shook himself out of his daze and headed over to a man at the cash register. "Excuse me," Adam said, "I happened to notice the sign in the front window. Could I apply for a job?"

The man said yes, and he talked to my brother about what he needed to do to apply for the job. And by the next week, he had gotten the job. It was Sunday night, and his first day at the Ninth Street Cafe started the next morning. He finally had a job! He could finally earn money and complete setting up his home and afford proper food for himself. But at the back of his mind, all he was thinking about was how much he hoped he would see that red-haired girl again.

My memorial service was held on Monday, so the first day of school was cancelled so that everyone could attend. The official funeral for myself and my parents had already taken place a week after our deaths, before my brother had set off for New York. Only close family and friends had been invited, including April. So to have to go to another event and mourn my death was a bit too much for April. She wore a black dress that morning before heading off to the school memorial service, the same one she had worn at our funeral. She thought back to the day she had gone to bought it. She never would have thought that she would be shopping for a dress to wear at her best friend's funeral. And she never would that thought that just one of her foolish acts could have been the cause for me and my parents' deaths. April spun half-heartedly in front of the mirror, smoothed out the creases in her dress. Then she looked up to the ceiling and whispered into the air, "I don't deserve to go to your memorial."

"April..." I reached out to hold her hand, but of course my hand went right through her's. I myself had no idea what caused the fire. I had no idea if April had accidently started it. But what I did know was that she was the most amazing friend to me, and she definitely deserved to come to the funeral and memorial.

"I feel you here with me." April looked around the room, as if trying to see me. "I always feel you here with me, like you never actually left..." She paused for a moment and breathed in deeply. "I'm going mad," she whispered to herself. With that, she grabbed her coat, shoved the eulogy she had written and read for me at our funeral into her pocket, and left the house.

***

The memorial was a sombre and tense occasion. There was no talking other than the people coming up to the podium to give a few words for me or my parents. When April's turn came up, her hands became clammy and her breaths short. She had already recited the eulogy at the funeral, so why was she feeling nervous all over again? Maybe it was because she felt like she was saying her goodbyes to me all over again.

"And now, a few words from Emilia's friend, April Lowry," the school principal said. He stepped aside and adjusted the microphone to my friend's shorter height. She approached the podium and smoothed out the paper. She already felt like crying. She did not want to do this.

"Hi everyone," April said gently into the microphone. It took her a while to collect herself. She took some deep breaths, reread the first sentence to herself over and over. Everyone patiently waited for her to start.

"There is a very beautiful quote by Mitch Albom, Emilia's favourite writer," she started. "The quote is, 'Death ends a life, not a relationship'. When someone asks me who my best friend is, I will always reply with Emilia's name. She will always be my best friend and soul mate, just like how she will always be Adam's little sister and her parents' daughter. Just because she has passed on, does not mean that our ties with her have ended." April swallowed and folded the paper back into a little square. She decided to improvise a bit. She needed to say the first words that came to her head. She needed to speak from her heart.

"There are a lot of things I admired about Emilia," April continued. "Emilia did not care for being famous or loved by all. She never cared for being a widely known person or having loads of friends or making everyone love her. She just wanted to be properly loved by close family and friends. And that is precisely why she will live on in our hearts; she was not known by millions of people like most people in the world want. But she did bring out the best in a lot of people, especially me. She helped me, she was there for me, she could always make me laugh..." April wiped at her eyes. "And now, um... well, she is making me cry too..." She cleared her throat. "Emilia will always live on in the hearts of the people she loved and cared for. And I will never stop loving her and missing her. In my eyes, she has always been, and will always be, the most amazing person in the world. She deserved so many more days than she got, but I am thankful for even having her in my life at all." April realized that she was rambling now. Her voice was breaking, and the tears would not stop. "Rest in peace, Emilia and Mr and Mrs McLaughlin." The principal came over to her and asked her if she was okay. April nodded and scurried back to her seat, unable to stop the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Once the service ended, April stood at the back gymnasium door and politely acknowledged anyone that came up to her to say "I'm so sorry for your loss" or "That was a beautiful speech you gave earlier". April was finding it difficult to make small talk with all these people. She could barely breathe. Here everyone was, talking and, although the occasion was sombre, everyone was relaxed. And here she was, unable to catch her breath, reminding herself to inhale, exhale... Her heart was thudding in her ears, she was on the verge of tears... Only she could hear how loud this room actually was, nobody else.

"Keep your composure, April. This is your best friend's memorial," she whispered to herself, just as some class mates came up to her to compliment the speech she had given. As they softly talked to her near the entrance, April noticed two girls from her math class whispering to each other nearby. One of the two girls was Aiden, who had always been not-so-kind toward me... She did not exactly bully me, but she definitely did not attempt to hide her dislike toward me. Any time I would say something around her, she would roll her eyes or whisper to her friends while pointing to me. I never understood why she hated me so much. April would always tell me to just brush her off and not take what she would say personally. "She is just jealous," she would tell me, waving her hand dismissively, the way you would wave off a pesky mosquito. "I mean, you get better grades than her, people usually tend to like you more than her... and just look at yourself! Why wouldn't she be jealous of that face?"

"My mom forced me to come here," Aiden was saying to her friend now. "I don't even know why I'm here." April knew that Aiden was deliberately speaking loud enough for her to hear. By now, the people April had been talking to earlier had already left. Most people had gathered outside to converse, so the gymnasium was less congested. It made her feel relieved; the space to breathe, to be alone and grieve by herself.
But it was difficult to relax when she could hear the horrible things Aiden was saying. "I mean, why would I care that Emilia is dead? It's a relief that I won't have to see her in class every day. Everyone is better off now without her anyway." And that was all it took for April to crack. She took a few steps toward Aiden and, with all the strength she could muster up, shoved her hard into the wall.

"Aiden!" Her friend ran to her and helped her get up on her feet. Aiden was cupping the back of her head in her hands in pain, clenching her jaw. It began to sink in, what April had just done. She backed away from them and headed for the door. "I'm sorry," she whispered into the air. But she was not apologizing to Aiden; I knew who she was apologizing to. "I am so sorry Em."

"Table thirteen!" Antonio passed Adam two cups of coffee and a plate with the steaming breakfast special. It was Adam's second day at the hectic Ninth Street Cafe. Orders were being yelled at him every ten seconds, he was running back and forth, in and out of the kitchen. And even though he had no time to relax, he could not help but look around the cafe every time he left the kitchen to attend to a table, trying to find the anonymous red-haired girl.

After lunch hour was over, there was not as much rush and enough space in between orders to small talk with the other people he was working alongside. "So, Adam," Antonio, the charming and outgoing waiter said, "Tell me about you. How long have you been living in New York?"

"A couple of days," Adam replied.

"Really?" Antonio washed his hands and leaned back against the counter. "Did you come with your family?"

Adam shifted uncomfortably and shifted his gaze to the floor. "No, I-uh, I actually came here alone." By the look on his face, Antonio could tell he had just asked a touchy question.

"Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry," he apologized, but Adam forced a light-hearted laugh and shook his head.

"Don't worry about it! You aren't prying." He cleared his throat and decided to change the subject. "So what brought you to working in this cafe?"

Antonio seemed to like the conversation being geared toward him, as he perked up and began to smile. "Well, I was born and raised in Chicago by my loving but very strict parents. My mother is a psychiatrist, and my dad is a lawyer. So yeah, you can imagine the kind of people my parents have always been. They have just always expected too much from me, you know? Actually, scratch that. What I mean is that they always expected me to be someone I am not. They wanted me to become involved in anything that involves science, business, medicine... so when I went to art school, they were pretty disappointed. I got into painting and sculpting and photography, but my parents think these kinds of careers will not me make me a living. After graduating high school, I went to university, but I dropped out in the first year and decided to travel to New York with the money I had earned, in order to find some opportunities in art careers. I guess I just needed change. So I packed my things and set off for New York. I share a relatively spacious and cozy apartment with a friend of mine, and I have been working in this cafe for the past two years. My parents always thought I would be unsuccessful, and I guess they were right all along." Antonio laughed light-heartedly, as if he had just made the funniest joke. "But I won't give up. I still work on my paintings and sketches and photographs, and I still go to art galleries and dream of having my work up on those walls, of having my work in the same rooms as Van Gogh and Claude Monet." Antonio then sighed and began to wipe down the counter he had been leaning on. "But for now, I'm just passing time here. I have to say, though, Ninth Street Cafe is a wonderful place to work. I especially love the brilliant people I meet every day, and I love listening to performers singing and playing music as I work."

"This is a really fun place to work," Adam agreed, "but also very busy." Just then, the door to the kitchen swung open.

"We have an order at table three!" A woman handed me a paper with cursive handwriting scribbled on it and rushed back out of the door.

"Well, back to work," Adam sighed. Antonio laughed and gave him a sympathetic pat on the back.

"Ah, don't worry, buddy! It gets really easy once you get used to it. Lemme see that order... Oh, look! Zooey is about to go up on stage!"

"Who's Zooey?" my brother asked curiously. He glanced through the little window to see who he was talking about. Seated at a table near the stage was the red-haired girl he had been waiting to see, and a smile immediately etched onto his face. "So her name is Zooey, hmm?"

"Yeah." Antonio began to work on the order, and Adam pretended to busy himself with making grilled sandwiches. "She comes around here all the time. I really admire that girl. I mean, she comes up on stage and we pay her to perform here regularly, because a lot of people come by here just to listen to her. She saves up money for herself, but she gives away a lot of what she earns here to charity. Admirable young lady."

Adam nodded in agreement, still gazing at Zooey. What a generous and kind-hearted person... He wanted to get to know her, but there was this voice at the back of his head warning him to stay away from her before he could possibly get emotionally attached to her. Because Adam's logic was: "Either people abandon you or they die on you. In any case, you are always going to be left all alone." I had seen him writing these words down in his journal. And I wish he knew that I did not leave him, that me and mom and dad are still with him and that the ones that truly love him will never actually leave. "Go and talk to Zooey," I want to tell him. "She seems special. Go get to know her, and stop being afraid of letting your walls down."

  Maybe my words somehow got to him, or maybe it was his own intuition, that made him decide to go out there and watch Zooey perform.

"The sandwiches are almost ready for table three," Adam told Antonio. "I have heard about Zooey's singing but never actually watched her perform. Do you mind if I go out for a minute?"

"Yeah. No problem," he replied, distracted by the oven; he was sitting in front of it cross legged and looking through its window, watching the muffins rise, which made my brother chuckle a bit. "Don't be too long. People are starting to fill up again." Adam nodded and left the kitchen and looked toward the stage. Zooey was about to perform. He sat down in an empty seat closest to the stage that he could find, and he folded his hands in his lap as the pianist started playing. I recognized the song immediately as the song began. It was one of my favourites... Zooey swayed lightly to the music, and Adam watched the way she bit her lip in concentration, the way her blue eyes looked even brighter under the spotlights. Right before she began singing, she met my brother's eyes for a brief moment, out of everyone else in the crowd. She gave him a ghost of a smile as she began the first verse.

"Say something, I'm giving up on you. I'll be the one if you want me to. Anywhere I would have followed you. Say something, I'm giving up on you." Adam was taken aback by how beautiful Zooey's voice sounded. He of course expected that she would be pretty good after hearing what Antonio had said about her. But in his opinion, she was singing even better than A Great Big World and Christina Agiluera had sung the original song! The audience seemed to agree with him; everyone in the cafe was applauding and whistling and rising in their seats. She had just started the song, and she was already receiving standing ovations! As she proceeded on to the chorus, Adam was certain that he had never before heard such a beautiful voice before. He was left mesmerized, left in absolutely awe.

"Say something, I'm giving up on you. Say something..." She let her voice fade off gently on the last note, a beautiful way to end the song. Adam leaped up in his seat and applauded along with everyone else. "Thank you!" A rose was thrown on stage, and Zooey picked it up and plucked it into her hair as she began to walk off stage. And just as she was off the stage, she looked in Adam's direction again, but this time she smiled much more widely than before and gave a little wave. He looked behind himself to see if she was waving at someone standing behind him. No... She was actually waving at him! So he waved back, a lopsided little smile on his face. He did not understand why he felt so giddy; after all, she was already smiling and talking to some other people seated in the cafe. He was just another audience member...

"Adam! Get back in here! We have more orders!" Antonio called from the kitchen. Adam sighed and dusted his hands off on his apron. Well, it was back to work. He allowed himself another glance at Zooey, at her gorgeous dishevelled hair and her casual blue dress and her shy smile, before he disappeared back into the kitchen.

Right when he entered the kitchen, he was handed receipts and instructions. "Can you get table thirteen three double-doubles?" Antonio called to Adam. He quickly busied himself again, and in that moment of chaos and stress, the kitchen door swung open.

Antonio turned to see who had come in, and when he saw who it was, he immediately dropped the sack of flour he had just opened back on the ground, landing with a soft THUNK! and sending flour flying onto Adam's face.

"Zooey! How are you today?" Zooey? Adam looked up, floury faced and confused, coughing a bit. Sure enough, it was her. Antonio retrieved a coffee for her.

"I'm doing good, thanks Antonio!" she replied excitedly. She began to search around in her bag, and she pulled out a wallet. My brother could not help but notice that she was wearing a book bag and not a handbag or purse like most girls carry around. He actually caught a glimpse of a novel and what he assumed was a journal, and immediately a smile came onto his face. Was she a writer too?

"No, no," Antonio said as Zooey pulled out a five dollar bill. "This one's for your lovely performance."

"Thank you," she laughed, "But you always give me the same excuse. At this rate, you will never let me pay."

"You help us attract customers with your performances," Antonio argued. "And for that we are very grateful." Adam had forgotten that there was flower all over his face. Zooey looked toward him and laughed.

"You seem to be really into your job," she commented. Antonio finally took notice of him.

"What are you doing? Did you stuff your head in the flour sack?" Adam laughed and grabbed a wet cloth to wipe his face.

"No! You're the one tossed the open sack in front of me." Zooey reached out a hand toward him.

"Are you new here? I have never seen you here before." He smiled and shook her warm hand.

"Yeah I am. I'm Adam. Your performance was absolutely amazing, by the way!" In the back of his mind, a little voice was whispering to him, 'Don't make a fool out of yourself! Be charming! Be cool! Make a good impression.'

"Thank you!" she replied happily. "So, how do you like it here?"

"This is definitely unlike any place I have ever been before," he said with a laugh. "But I really love it here." Zooey nodded in agreement. Adam suddenly began to panic a bit. He did not want this conversation to just end. He glanced down at Zooey's book bag again, still unzipped, and he crouched down a bit to look at the spine of the novel he had seen earlier.

"'The Scarlet Letter'! Good choice." Adam began to quote from the novel: "''No man for any considerable period can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.'"

"Quoting Nathaniel Hawthorne! Very impressive." Zooey did actually look impressed. She grinned and pulled out the book. "I have an odd obsession with collecting old books from the nineteenth century. Nobody understands me." She laughed light-heartedly.

"That isn't odd at all! Old classics are always the best," my brother agreed. "My sister always used to call me an old man because I read ancient books."

Suddenly, the kitchen went a little quiet. Even my own breath caught in my throat for a second. Adam looked at Antonio and Zooey in confusion. Had he said something wrong? And then he realized: he had just referred to me in the past tense. It isn't that Adam does not like talking about us, because he does! He loves talking about his family... but he just did not want everyone to know about the horrible tragedy, the real reason why he had left Atlanta. He did not need the sad comments and the pity and the "I'm so sorry for your loss". He was still very sensitive to the topic.

"I mean, you know, before I moved to New York," he added with a nervous chuckle. Antonio "aah"ed and nodded, turning back to the stove. But Zooey did not look convinced with my brother's cover up. She looked at him curiously, almost sadly. But to his relief, she did not question him further.

"You know, if you are interested in literature, there is a brand new book store opening this weekend, just on the next street." Zooey fished through her bag until she found a little flyer ad with a photo of a cozy-looking book store. She handed him the flyer, and Adam read the address.

"I'm going to check it out on Saturday. If you are free that day, would you like to come along with me?" At this point, Adam's palms were sweaty and the butterflies in his stomach were having a rave party. She actually wanted to spend time with him? He said yes a little too quickly and smiled a little too widely. He was relieved to see Zooey grinning as she asked to exchange numbers so that she could text him later. "Well, I'm sorry but I have to run," she said, finishing up the coffee Antonio had handed her. "Bye, Antonio!"

"Bye, Zoooooooey!" he said goofily, making her laugh. "Are you coming tomorrow?" Antonio took the coffee cup from her and threw it out for her.

"I'm not sure, but I will try to make it. Bye, Adam!" Adam smiled and waved, still a bit dazed and surprised. And then she was gone.

Antonio turned from the food he had just prepared to glance over at Adam. He was still staring at the look Zooey had just gone through, frozen in place. "You look surprised," he laughed.

"Hmm?" He turned away from the door and hurriedly occupied himself with the task of starting the next order. "It's nothing. I'm just surprised by the fact that I have barely known Zooey for five minutes and we have already planned to hang out."

"That's how she is," Antonio replied. "She's... I guess you could say she has a way with people. Everyone loves her." Adam nodded and from there on continued on with his day. He kept glancing toward the kitchen doors every now and then, already looking forward to the next time she would walk through those doors again.

But she did not come to Ninth Street Cafe the next day, or the day after, or for the rest of the week at all. Even though Adam was surrounded by the most fascinating people and seeing brilliant performances all day, the days felt tedious and dull without Zooey. But then he received a text from her on Friday night, asking if he was still up for Saturday. He did not reply to her... Instead, he scrolled through his old texts until he found the last text conversation Adam and I had had. He had been texting me in the bus on the way back from work:

He had messaged me: "Em!! There is this dog I saw in the street earlier and it just kept nuzzling my legs and it just made my day and I can't stop smiling. I want a dog! Can you get me a dog as a late birthday present? :)"

"Adam, I already got you a birthday gift this year. Be patient and wait until next year."

"I can't wait a whole yearrr. How about a dog as an early birthday present?"

"You mean ten months early...?"

"Yep!"

Adam could not help but laugh at this conversation all over again. He could still remember that day perfectly; he had been in the city, and although it had just rained, the sun was still blazing bright. His shoes were wet and a bit muddy, and the bus was bouncing repeatedly because of all the potholes, making it difficult for him to text me. He was soaking wet, and he was tired after a long day, but he could not stop himself from smiling. Adam wanted to let himself get immersed in the memories of his past, just for a little while, and just forget about his unfortunate situation.

But then he had to let reality kick in. He would never get a text from me again. He looked back at his phone, and he read the last text I had sent: "You mean ten months early...?" That was the last text I had sent him. And the last one he would ever receive. The horrible realisation came along with a sinking feeling in Adam's stomach.

And then he did an absurd thing; he texted me. He wrote "Emilia?" and sent it. And then he was lying against the wall and staring at his phone. Back when I was alive, I would never take more than two minutes to reply to him. He kept watching the screen, waiting for it to light up. He knew that it would not... but something inside of him was hoping that I would text him back. He shut his eyes, drummed his fingers on his leg for the longest few minutes of his life, then opened then again, checked his phone again. He was waiting for something that was not going to happen. He was helplessly waiting for someone that was already gone.

It was as if something went off in him in that moment. If he called me or Mom or Dad, no one would pick up. He would never see me graduate. He would never watch my parents grow old together. He would never come home and be greeted by my hugs ever again. At first, there were just a few tears. But then he stopped trying to hold himself back, and he was crying more than he ever had in his entire life. He whispered something to himself, and I had to lean in closer to him to hear what he said.

"What did you say?" I asked him. "Can you say that again, Adam?" Tears were welling up in my own eyes now. He repeated himself, as if he had actually heard me.

"Why couldn't I have died with them?" At first I highly I doubted I had heard right. I really wished that I had heard wrong... but I had not. He kept repeating these words as he rocked back and forth in the little ball he was curled into. Adam finally lifted his tear-stricken face, and he looked around at his bare apartment. It was so empty... not because there was not enough furniture, but because there was no one lounging on the sofa watching television or cooking in the kitchen or humming in the shower. He felt like when we left him, we took a piece of him with us, the piece of him that had passion and hope and happiness... the part of him that made him whole.

Adam's phone lit up with a text. It was Zooey. He unlocked his phone and read the text:

"Sooo are you coming tomorrow? :)"

He had almost forgotten that Zooey had texted him earlier asking if he was still up for Saturday. He turned off his phone and crawled into a little ball on his mattress. There was one thing about Zooey that was already obvious to him; she was about to become his whole world. He already cared about her a great deal, more than he should, and this feeling was strengthening every day... He could sense an impending storm.

So he did not text Zooey back. He did not go out on Saturday. Instead, he put his headphones on, drowned the world out, and tried to forget everything just for a little while.

My mom was gazing down at earth from the clouds, arms crossed. I could tell she was deep in thought. I gently tugged at her sleeve. "Mom?"

"He is miserable without us," she whispered. A tear rolled down her cheek, and I think my heart broke a little.

"He will be okay, Mom."

"My son, your brother, has lost his entire family. I am fairly certain he is depressed. And he has to earn himself a living at only eighteen... I hate seeing him like this. All this is unfair, so unfair for him... And the worst part is that all I can do is enjoy myself in Heaven and watch him struggle. I feel like..." She broken into sobs and buried her face in her sleeve.

"Oh, Mom..." I went over to her and hugged her tight. My heart was breaking seeing her like this; she was trying to say something, was she was crying too hard to speak. "I... I feel like--"

"Mom, you don't--"

"I feel like the worst mother ever. Adam-- he needs me. I am supposed to be providing for him, helping him pay for his university fees and paying for his food and shelter... He needs us more than ever and we cannot be there for him."

"Mom..." This was one of those times where I did not know what to say. I could say, "Everything will be okay," but what right did I have to say that? I did not need to say anything though, because she spoke the next words for me, the ones I knew she would say:

"Bring Adam to Heaven, Emilia. Reunite our family. I wanted to wait for a while and see if he is doing okay, but clearly he is not. I can't bear to see him like this any longer."

"You know I can't do that Mom." I pulled away from her embrace and held her hands instead. "His family has been taken away from him. I cannot take the rest of his life away from him. Just because it is over for us does not mean it is over for him. Mom." I gently tilted her face up to get her to look at me. "Adam survived that fire. He is alive, and he is alive for a reason. He did not die, and I have been hesitant in bringing him to join us in Heaven. And I believe there is a reason behind this; because there are a lot of great things he has to live for. He is going to become a published writer and go to university and get married and have a family... But Mom, I will promise you this; if a long time goes by and Adam is still going through a very rough time, I will give you and Dad the choice of reuniting our family. This is a decision that cannot be reversed, so I just want you to understand why I haven't decided anything yet."

"Yes. Yes, of course I understand, Em." She held my face in her hands and kissed the top of my head. "This decision isn't one that should be made in haste. Take all the time you need to decide; no one is rushing you."
***
Zooey did not text Adam on Saturday, and he had not replied to her previous texts. Instead, he spent the day at home watching movies on his laptop and eating ice cream. It was disconcerting seeing my restless and adventurous brother staying home on a Saturday. Back when myself and my parents were alive, he would often spend his weekends with his friends, doing anything out-of-the-ordinary. Or sometimes, when he was not in his social, partying mood, he would tell me to get ready, and we would go on aimless road trips together. Those days on the road with him are the ones I miss the most; the rambling conversations, the loud music, the windows rolled down... I did not like seeing him like this, especially in a city where he had always dreamt of going to.

Adam was watching reruns of "Friends" episodes when there was a knock at the door. He sighed in exasperation and slid further into his blanket. "Go awaaaaaaaaay!" he moaned. He decided to ignore the person at the door until they would eventually give up and leave. But this stubborn person would not give up; whoever it was resumed knocking.

"Alright, alright! I'm coming." Adam groggily got up onto his feet and answered the door. To say that he was surprised at who was standing outside would be an understatement; he was astonished.

There stood Zooey, looking stunning as ever. Her nose and cheeks were flushed a deep pink from the cold, and her red hair looked even messier and darker than usual. There were rain drops glistening on the tips of her lashes. This was the first time Adam was seeing her wearing something other than a dress. She was wearing a baggy grey hoodie that was much too big for her, going all the way down to her knees. Regardless, she looked beautiful.

"Hi..." Zooey's playful smile slipped a notch when she took notice of how tired and sad my brother looked. He was an exhausted mess.

"Hi, Zooey." Adam actually cracked a smile. It was impossible not to. Despite the fact that he was not having the best day, seeing her standing at his door made his day a bit brighter. "How did you know where I live?"

"You didn't reply to my texts, so I dropped by Ninth Street Cafe to see if you were still coming with me," she explained. "But you weren't there. Antonio asked me if I was looking for you, and he told me where you live... I'm sorry. I should have notified you before just dropping by unannounced."

"Hey, it's fine!" he assured her. He opened the door wider and gestured inside. "Come on in." He shut the door behind him. "Welcome to my humble abode!"

Zooey stepped further into the living room and looked around the bare, white walled apartment. "I have not been able to buy much furniture yet," he cleared up quickly. He suddenly wished that he had gotten around to getting some proper couches or a bed.

"Woah! Good music taste!" The bedroom door was wide open, so she could see all of his posters. she glanced over at Adam to seek his approval to go inside, and he smiled and nodded a little too quickly.

He felt giddy seeing the looks of approval and enthusiasm on her face. She swept her hand lightly over a poster of Danny O'Donoghue, traced her fingers over the words as if she was feeling the lyrics enter her through her fingertips, through her skin... "The Script! So you have a great taste in literature AND music! Would you say you are an indie-rock kind of person?"

"When it comes to music, I am an everything person," he replied. That goofy, lopsided smile was still on his face. "You look cold... Do you want some tea or coffee? Anything to eat?"

Zooey rubbed her small hands together and breathed into them. "Nothing to eat, thanks, but I would actually love some coffee about now."

They made small talk as Adam prepared two cups of coffee in the kitchen. And as they spoke, he began to reconsider his thoughts from the previous night, the war between the two vastly contrasting parts of his mind. A part of him was telling him to let loose and to just let these broken pieces fall into place on their own. But the other part of him was screaming at him to stay away from her. He did not see the point in possibly getting hurt again. By befriending Zooey,  he would be putting himself in harm's way. He would be walking straight into the lion's den. Because the way Adam saw it, either people betray you or they die on you. Why should he open up to Zooey, only  to constantly fear losing her?

But then all of these scary, cynical thoughts simply evaporated when Zooey showed up at his door, cold and wet and messy haired and absolutely gorgeous. Opportunity had literally come knocking at his door, the opportunity to get to know someone that made him happy, someone that could help him put all of his broken pieces together again.

"Here you go!" Adam said chirpily as he handed Zooey her coffee. She wrapped her hands around the cup in gratitude.

"Thank you." Now, Adam was sitting across from her at the little white table he had bought two days ago. It was then that he noticed the odd look etched on her face as she stared down into her coffee cup.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing! It's just..." Adam could see a sneaky smile creep onto her lips. "No pressure, but I am expecting this coffee to be pretty damn great, considering the fact that you work in the best cafe in New York." She looked back up and could not help but laugh at how genuinely nervous he looked. "You look petrified! I'm only kidding."

"Hey! I take these things seriously." Adam feigned a look of offense. "I am a perfectionist when it comes to making the best coffee I can, so if you don't like it, I will probably have a bit of a break down."

"Well, I am glad you take customer satisfaction so seriously," she replied with a laugh. She took a sip, and there was a dramatic pause. "This is really good!"

"Thank goodness!" Adam jokingly let out a deep sigh of relief, as he crossed his legs up on his chair. He realized suddenly that Zooey had not questioned him about the reason why he was sitting at home and had not replied to her texts earlier. He appreciated this, of course, but he also felt that he owed her an explanation or, at least, an apology.

"I'm sorry about not getting back to you earlier," he apologized. "I just haven't been having the best day."

"Don't worry about it. I understand." Zooey shuffled her feet and looked down. "Everyone has those days when you just want to be alone without having to explain yourself... You can always talk to me if you're ready, but you don't have to."

"I can't even tell you how much I appreciate that." My brother let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

Zooey nodded. In one moment, she went from solemn and sympathetic to her usual fun, bubbly self. "Do you still want to go to that book store opening? Don't feel obligated to say yes."

Adam decided to stop contemplating for once and just act on instinct. He grinned and got up onto his feet as well. "Sure! Let's go."

"Are you sure you want to? I mean, you don't have to-"

"Yeah don't worry, I'm sure. I think it will be good to go out and clear my head. Plus, I have been looking forward to hanging out with you."

Zooey smiled, not a playful, joking smile, but a smile of genuine happiness and relief. "Okay, that's good! Now, go get ready."

"Alright. I won't take long. But in the meantime, just feel free to grab anything from the kitchen or entertain yourself." He said this as he gestured to his laptop.

"Alright, I'll keep that in mind. Now go on and get ready! It's already getting late."

In the span of eight minutes, Adam had brushed his teeth, taken a shower and changed into some different clothes; a dark blue sweater with faded black jeans and a grey beanie. He sauntered into the living room as he wore his socks. "I didn't take too long, did I?" He looked over to Zooey; her eyes were shut, and she was lying against the arm rest of the sofa, one arm dangling off the side and the other lying over her stomach where her phone was. He could hear her lightly snoring. "Zooey, come on!"

"Okay, okay! I'm kidding!" She opened her eyes and sat up quickly. "That was fast enough, I suppose. Come on, let's go!"

The first day back to school was tense and unnerving. It was the day after the memorial service, so the hallways were not buzzing with the usual excitement and chatter. There was no conversation, no laughter, nothing… April held her notebooks close to her chest as she walked down the hallway. Some people smiled sympathetically at her and said hello, some nodded to her in acknowledgement, and some of her friends just silently passed by, heads bowed down toward the ground.

Her first class was History. She sat at the bag of the class and doodled on her notebook. Her mind was somewhere far, far away… She was thinking back to the first day of high school, when she had met me for the first time. She remembered my legs crossed up on my chair, the book I was silently reading… She had come up to me and said hello, and honestly, I cannot remember our first conversation we had. But that is alright; I still remember the smiles, the laughs, the feeling I had felt. I felt that maybe high school would not be so bad after all, with April by my side.

And now, here she was, all alone. The seat next to her would usually be occupied by me. Or if I was not in her morning class, I would send her a good morning text. But of course, I had not sent her a message this morning.

“Alright, class! Settle down.”  Everyone went silent, and our teacher, Mr Ainsworth, started the class off by getting the new students to introduce themselves. Then, he moved onto the subject of me. “I am aware that our previous student, Emilia McLaughlin, is no longer with us and that we held a memorial service for her yesterday.” The class was graveyard silent. “And I know that yesterday’s occasion has left us all feeling a bit distracted from studies…” I felt so odd, so intrusive at that moment, standing next to my teacher and watching my classmates staring at the floor and some even getting teary eyed. I felt like I was not supposed to be there, watching them grieve my death. After all, no one knew that I was standing right there, in the same room as them. The people I had not even been aware cared about me were wiping their eyes with their sleeves. There was this horrible, sickly feeling in the pit of my stomach as April sniffled from the back of the class. My teacher went on about the class behaving as they would on any regular day.

Once History class was over, Isaac, a guy that sits next to April in class, quickly caught up with her as she began to leave for her next class. “Hey.” He nudged her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

She shook her head no. He didn't know what to say to her, but then she spoke instead: “I feel like I never did as much for her as she did for me.” She sighed and leaned back against a locker. “I feel like I owe her. I need to do something for her. Anything…”

“Like what?” he inquired.

“I’m not sure… but I was thinking that I should submit some of her poetry to get published.” This made my head snap up in surprise. I had written a lot of poetry since the beginning of grade nine, and I would often send April my work and ask for feedback and tips on how to improve. I would usually send her bits and pieces of poetry through email, but I never considered myself good enough to get published. My brother was the brilliant writer in the family, not me. He has been published in magazines and websites and anthologies… and the only people that had ever been fans of my work were April and Adam. But to be fair, she was the only person besides Adam that I was comfortable sharing my work with.

"Why do you feel so guilty?" Isaac asked. "You don't owe her anything! You two were best friends. You were by her side, and that's all that matters."

The bell rang then, signifying the start of the second period. "I'm sorry I made you late for class," he apologized.

"No! Don't apologize. I appreciated your coming up to me and asking if I am alright. Thank you very much, Isaac." He patted her shoulder and smiled, and then he went down the staircase. April slid down the wall when he was gone, and she breathed in shakily. "I have to do something for you, Emilia," she breathed into the still air. "I still don't understand all of this, what caused the fire, what to do... I am so sorry."

"It's okay, April." I hugged her, held her face like I had that day in the hospital, but, just like that horrible day, she didn't respond to my embrace. I, myself, did not know how that fire had happened. I was still trying to untangle this mess too. Deep down, I knew that I just had to know what caused the house that I had grown up in to burn to the ground. We all needed closure, answers, especially April.
***

The book store was absolutely enormous. Adam noticed, right when he stepped in, that there were several floors, and the bookshelves reached up as far as his eyes could see. There were already Halloween and Christmas books for children on sale. The store was bustling with people of all ages, excitedly chatting amongst themselves and skimming book spines. The aura of the store was so cozy and festive. It made Adam feel refreshed. This was his kind of place. Even though he loved carnivals and road trips and parties, he felt most himself at that moment, in this setting, most alive.

"This is so beautiful!" Zooey pulled off her hood and combed her fingers through her loose, wet curls. "I don't know where to start!" Surprisingly, she immediately walked over to the Halloween section, where there were books and pens and jack-o-lantern bobble heads.

"Is that really what you want to look at first?" Adam tried to look unamused, but he could not help but smile at Zooey's excitement.

"Well, of course! Halloween is the best time of the year."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"No way! I would say Christmas."

"You can't dress up or get candy on Christmas!" Zooey let out an exasperated sigh and gestured for Adam to follow her into the next aisle. She picked up "The Night Circus" and began to skim the excerpt on the back of the book.

"Wait... You still trick or treat?"

"Well...no. But I do still like to get into the Halloween spirit."

"What, like dressing up?"

"I don't go full-out, but I kind of dress up, I guess." Zooey trailed her finger over the hundreds of book spines in front of her and smiled at Adam. "You cannot lie; it is hard not to get into the Halloween spirit and dress up at least a little."

He laughed and flicked a zombie bobble head. "I confess, I actually went a little too over the top last year when I dressed up as Gene Simmons."

"As always, Adam, I greatly respect your music taste."

They spend a good three hours at the book store. They skimmed through every floor and had rambling conversations and nothing and everything. They lounged in bean bag chairs and read their old childhood favourites, laughing at how ridiculous those books seemed to them now that they were older. They stood from the railing upstairs and looked down, watched the constant stream of people going in and out of the store, and they commented on by passers. "That woman with the purple hair looks interesting," Zooey pointed out. "She seems introverted, a little more kept to herself but perfectly happy being that way."

"And her favorite band is Bon Jovi."

"And she spends too much money on coffee."

They went on like this as they aimlessly flipped through books, until they decided they should start leaving. So they bought their books and began to aimlessly wander the streets of New York City. "So I chose to go to the book store," Zooey said, pulling the drawstrings of her hoodie as they stepped outside. "Now you get to choose our next destination."

Adam looked around and hummed thoughtfully. It had stopped raining quite a while ago, and although it was only September, most of the grass was already sheathed in frost. People in the streets were closing their umbrellas and wrapping their jackets tighter around themselves. But despite how cold it was getting as night approached, people were flooding into the streets of New York rather than going home for dinner. The open signs in little shops were flickering back to life, and the lights from stores and buildings were outshining the stars. There were so many places Adam wanted to go, so much that he wanted to do, especially now that he had Zooey standing by his side, asking him to lead the way. He wanted to take her somewhere exciting. He wanted to impress her like she had impressed him. He wanted to make sure she would have a good time, to make sure that tonight would be the night she would never forget.

"Follow me," he said. Zooey linked arms with him as they headed down the street. Adam led them to the first bus stop that he spotted, and they piled into the already-crowded vehicle.

"Where are we going?" Zooey asked, and they put in their bus fares. Adam shrugged and sat down, saving her the window seat. "I'm not sure," he replied. "But we will know where to stop once we see it." And so Zooey and Adam threw their legs up across the bus seats opposite to them and gazed out the window. While they tried to find their next destination, they decided to play twenty-one questions.

"Favourite colour?"

"Red. Yours?"

"Blue."

"Do you have any odd obsessions?"

"Odd obsessions?" Zooey laughed. Adam gave her a look that said, "This is a serious question, so don't laugh." Zooey crossed her feet up onto her seat as she seriously considered the question.

"I would say... I have an obsession with collecting notebooks. I mean, I sometimes buy like, ten notebooks. They usually remain blank for a long time, settled in a corner and collecting dust... but I find this odd satisfaction in collecting notebooks. It exhilarates me; the idea that all of these books could be filled with thoughts that could become best selling, award winning novels. Blank pages inspire me... They are just begging to be covered in thoughts and scribbles and feelings and masterpieces." Zooey looked to Adam. Her blue eyes were glowing in the fading grey skies. "That probably sounds a bit weird, but-"

"No, it doesn't sound weird, actually." Adam grinned and quickly moved his legs off the seat across from him to allow people boarding the bus to sit down. "I can kind of relate. I am not obsessed with collecting books, but I do get a little out of hand when I promise myself I will only buy myself one book and no more."

Zooey smiled and nodded. And then she said, "Alright, next question: what is your biggest fear?"

Adam knew the answer to this question, but he could not get the words to form, to leave his mouth. Instead, he shrugged and broke eye contact with Zooey. "I'm not sure..."

Zooey could see right through him, he knew it. "You're..."

"I'm what?"

"You seem... I don't know. It's like one minute you are open and carefree and I see the real you. But then the next minute, you distance yourself away from me. You close up a little bit. You put your walls up."

Adam sighed and leaned back into his seat. "I know. I realize that, and I am sorry... I really can't help it. It's like instinct, like second nature. Nowadays, whenever I begin to open up to someone, it feels wrong. It feels like I am doing something dangerous to myself."

"Why?"

"Maybe it's because I don't want to get hurt." Adam paused, and he laughed a bit. "See? You're doing it again."

"What?" Zooey tilted her head to the side, confused.

"You are making me open up to you without even trying."

"Well," Zooey said gently, "maybe that's a sign; a sign that you should not try so hard to isolate yourself from the world and distance yourself from people and opportunities that could make you happy."

"I know..." Zooey threw up her legs onto Adam's lap, and he mimicked the comforting gesture. "It's just hard. It is so hard to go on with life when you have lost your family. They say that time eventually heals everyone. But the person who came up with that saying clearly did not ever lose someone he loved dearly."

"I am so sorry about your loss," Zooey whispered. Adam looked over to her in surprise, realizing that he had just confessed to losing his family without even thinking. He could see her eyes welling up with tears. "I can tell you right now that no one expects you to feel completely okay. No one expects time to heal you. Because I know from personal experience that time does not heal a person who has lost a loved one."

This got Adam's attention. He looked over to Zooey, looked at her face for confirmation. Her gaze was cast downward, and she was blinking rapidly.

"Zooey..."

"I was thirteen when my dad passed away," she choked out. "He had acute lymphoblastic leukaemia. He fought for so long, but eventually his body gave in and stopped fighting. I still miss him with all my heart. Oh God, I miss him so much; not a day goes by when I don't think about him. When he passed away, for a long time I was just a lost girl with missing pieces, and I did not know how to feel whole again. I always had that horrible feeling, the one where you feel like you are constantly falling but you never actually reach the ground." She pinched the inner corners of her eyes. "I closed off from everything and everyone for a long time. I understand, Adam, I really do. But you also need to understand that doing what you are doing will not help you feel better. Adam." Zooey nudged him with her leg, tried to get him to look at her. "Celebrate their lives and accomplishments. Remember all the great memories you guys shared together. You are allowed to be sad. You are allowed to miss them, because they were people that deserve to always be remembered and missed. But don't close off from the rest of the world. Your whole life is ahead of you, and you know your family would want you to be happy."

Adam was left speechless. It took him a few moments to collect his thoughts again. "Zooey, I hope you realize that you just said everything to me that I have needed to hear for a long time."

"I'm glad," she said with a faint, sad smile. "I actually think that's something we both needed to hear."

Adam requested the bus to stop when he spotted a particularly beautiful sight out the window. As he and Zooey stepped off the bus, Adam linked arms with her and lead the way.

The air was noticeably getting more moist and chilly as they headed down the street. Across the street was an enormous fountain. It was in the form of a white horse standing on its hind legs, and water was spurting out of its mouth. There were children in thick coats standing around the edge of it and scooping handfuls of water that they would proceed to toss at each other.

Zooey could not stop smiling at the sight. "Have you ever been here before?" Adam asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. She shook her head no and came closer to the fountain. Under the luminescent blue street lights, her eyes looked bluer and wider than ever. She motioned to Adam excitedly to get him to follow her.

She pulled off her hood and scooped a handful of water. And, of course, my silly brother came closer to her and asked what she was doing, too naïve to catch on. She turned to him and tossed the water at his face. It was only a little bit, but it was enough to make his face feel a bit numb and to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand erect. Adam dramatically sucked in a deep breath and rubbed at his eyes furiously, pretending that his eyes were stinging.

“Adam? Are you okay?” Zooey asked nervously, sounding a bit guilty. The playful smile was no longer on her face. She held his arm and sat him down at the edge of the fountain. He covered his eyes with one hand, while he furtively scooped up some water from the fountain into his other hand. Zooey crouched down to level their gazes. “Adam! Adam, look at me. Oh God, I am so sorry.”

Adam was having a hard time suppressing his smile, as he watched Zooey through the space between her fingers. She looked so endearing and cute; her eyes wide, her eyebrows furrowed in concern, her hands shaking as she tentatively tried to get Adam’s hand away from his eyes. He finally gave in and let her pull his hand away. For a moment, they just sat there, intently staring at each other. In that moment, the loud and lively city seemed quiet for once, and the two of them felt like the Earth had suddenly stopped spinning, like time had just stopped, as well as their breathing... Adam, of course, had to go ruining the moment. When a bit of time passed in silence and he was beginning to feel a bit nervous, he tossed water at Zooey’s face.

She reeled back immediately, surprised and shuddering. She used the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe her face. By now, Adam was crouching on the ground and holding his stomach, running out of breath from laughing too hard. He could feel his eyes welling up with tears.

“What’s wrong with you?!” Zooey attempted to look intimidating and angry, but instead, she just could not help but smile. She splashed water at him again, as he did to her. This went back and forth until they were soaking wet and laughing so hard their stomachs ached. Adam’s clothes were sopping; he squeezed a part of his jacket, and a lot of water came out of it. “Zooey! I have got it worse than you. Look at me!”

“You started it!” she lied, rocking back and forth on her feet with a smug smile.

“Liar!” Adam laughed. He ran to her and grabbed her, rubbed his wet sleeves in her face until she was just as soaked as he was.

“I hate you,” she mumbled. Adam laughed playfully, knowing fully that she was lying.

“I hate you too.”
***

Adam and Zooey spent a while wandering around aimlessly, watching street performers and buying souvenirs from cute little stands in the streets. It was eight in the evening by the time Adam and Zooey had decided to grab dinner. They stopped a pizza place they had never heard of before, and they felt obligated to go inside when they caught a whiff of the welcoming smell of olives and cheese and warm bread. The restaurant looked like a traditional Italian pizza place, with the photos of Italy up on the walls and the red and white checkered tables and the Italian music. There were not many people seated inside; only two tables were occupied. There was only one employee as far as Zooey and Adam could tell. He was stood behind the counter, typing away on his phone. He looked up as they approached the front, and he put away his phone into the front of his apron. "Hello there!" he welcomed them. "Would you like your order for here or to go?"

"To go, please."

Adam and Zooey ordered an extra-large pizza with a mix of several of random toppings; pineapple, green pepper, tomato, chicken, pepperoni, anything sweet or spicy or savoury. They took their pizza outside and decided to sit up on a tall hill that overlooked the heart of the city. They raced each other to the top, and once Adam won the race and rubbed his victory in Zooey's face, they laid down on the wet, shiny grass, each with a pizza slice in their hand. Adam watched the darkening sky morph into an orange-purple. "The sky looks pretty," Zooey said.

"Yeah, it does," he agreed. “The sky is God's painting canvas."

They silently ate their pizza and watched the clouds drifting by. For the first time in forever, Adam felt truly alive. He could feel his heart pumping, he could feel his blood coursing through his veins, and he could feel the chilly air going into his lungs... He could finally feel himself being alive.

"You know, I have not felt this happy in a very long time," Adam admitted. Zooey looked over to him curiously.

"Are you usually happy?"

"Honestly... no. But that doesn't matter right now."

Zooey opened her mouth to say something, but she decided against it and just shut her eyes and breathed in deeply.

"Uh oh... You aren't falling asleep on me, are you? I thought you were a night owl!" Adam nudged her with his foot, and she opened one eye and smirked.

"Of course not! I'm just... resting. It has been a long day." She rolled onto her side and grabbed another slice of pizza. As she pulled it out, more than half the cheese fell off. "Oh noooo!" She picked up the cheese from inside and tried to arrange it onto her pizza. "I hate when that happens." They laughed as she laid down again and took a bite. "Okay, let's play a game."

"What game?"

"The belief game." Adam raised an eyebrow at her. "Yes, I just created it on the spot. Should I start it off? Maybe then you will get the hang of it." Adam nodded and grabbed another slice. "Okay... Do you believe... in God?"

"Of course." Adam gazed up at the stars and smiled. "Every creation has a creator." Zooey nodded as if to say, 'That sounds reasonable.' "Okay... Do you believe in that old saying 'practise makes perfect'?"

Zooey hesitated and hummed in thought. "No... Nothing is ever perfect. I would rather say that I believe in 'Practise makes improvement'. Okay... Do you believe in afterlife? Not necessarily Heaven and Hell, but do you believe in life after death?"

"I definitely hope so," he replied. He thought about Mom and Dad, about me. "I would like to think there is something after death..."

Zooey looked at Adam out of the corner of her eye, and she could see a pained expression on his face. She knew that the question she was about to ask would be crossing some unspoken boundary, but she had to. She could tell that Adam had some stuff to get off his chest.

"Adam..." He hummed in response. "What... what happened to your family? How did they die?" Adam had told himself that he would keep all of his burdens stored away deep inside him, never to be spoken of to anyone, especially not to someone he had only known for a few days. But the question made him unravel almost immediately. And it was then that he realized just how badly he needed someone to talk to.

"My family..." Adam swallowed and cleared his throat, "My whole family died in a fire that destroyed our entire home."

Zooey's stomach knotted. She could feel tears in her eyes. "Adam... I'm so sorry."

"So am I." He sighed and folded his hands over his stomach. "Their deaths is the reason why I came to New York in the first place. I couldn't stand living in the same city where my family died. I couldn't stand walking by the ruins of my old house every day on the way to work. I just needed to get away... Life is so unfair."

Zooey didn't know what to say. She wanted to comfort him, tell him everything was going to be okay. But she had no such knowledge, no right to say that. So she agreed with him and said, "Life is very unfair..."

"Ever since they passed away, I have been so... on edge all the time, so distant from everyone... because the thought of possibly losing someone I care about scares me so much."

"But how will you ever be happy again if you don't open up? I am sure your family wouldn't want to see you like this."

"Yeah... You're right. I guess they wouldn't." Adam sighed and turned to Zooey. "You know, on the first day that I arrived in New York, I had promised myself that I wouldn't open up to anyone... But then, of course, you just had to come by. Why do you have to be so likeable?"

Zooey laughed. "Thanks. That's flattering. But Adam," she said seriously, "You can't live life in fear all the time. You can't stay away from the joys of life in fear of losing what makes you happy. If it makes you feel any better, I am not going anywhere. I intend to stick around and annoy you for as long as I can."

Adam laughed and nudged her shoulder. "I would really like that."

On the way back home from school, April scrolled through old emails on her phone. She had created a new folder where she would put in any poetry I had sent her through email. She found a lot of them, but many of my poems were incomplete thoughts and unfinished sentences. She took one of my poems, a very short one, a changed the structure of it slightly to make it into a haiku.

April was really determined to get me published. She still had no idea if she was even the reason for the fire. She knew that somehow someday she would have to find out. But for now, she was making it up to me by collecting my old poems together to get published. She knew that if she had truly caused the fire, then nothing she could do would make it up to my family. But the thought of seeing my name in book stores and being advertised on websites made her feel giddy anyways. She was doing this because she wanted to, not just because she was trying to make things up to me. I may be gone, but she still wanted my words to live on.

April tossed her bag next to the kitchen counter when she got home. "Mom! I'm home." No reply. But she did hear footsteps upstairs. She grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and headed up to her room.

"Mom?" April walked into her room, only to find her mother standing next to the window, a pack of cigarettes in her hand and an enraged look on her face.

"I found this under your bed," she whispered. April's stomach churned. She went up to her mother and took the pack of cigarettes from her hand. "What are you doing?" Mrs Lowry demanded. April threw the pack into the nearest dustbin. She had forgotten to throw it out earlier that week. That sickening feeling returned, the one where she felt like the room was closing in on her and she needed to escape but she just could not.
"April, say something." That furious look on her mother's face had softened, and now she just looked desperate for an answer. April did not know what to say. Tears were already welling up in her eyes.

"Mom..." Her voice was shaking, breaking. She could feel the walls she had built up over the last few weeks caving in. She threw her arms around her mother and began to cry. Mrs Lowry was caught off guard, to say the least. She wrapped her arms around her daughter.

"I'm not trying to interrogate you, April," she whispered. "I just... I want to know why you are doing this."

"Mom, I think I might have done something very bad."

"But you can quit it, April! It isn't too late." She pulled away and brushed a few stray strands of hair from her daughter's face. "We all make mistakes."

"I'm not talking about the smoking, Mom." April sighed and sat down on her bed. Was she really about to do this? Was she really about to tell her mother everything? But April knew that she had been carrying too much weight on her shoulders lately, and she needed someone she trusted to help her carry that weight with her.

So she told her mother everything, start to finish, every detail she had never imagined she would be sharing with her mother someday. And when she was done speaking, her mother did not look enraged or bewildered like April had suspected she would. Instead, she pulled her daughter into a hug and rested her chin on April's head.

"I hate this," April cried into her mother's shirt. "You should be yelling at me. You should hate me... Even I hate myself. Mom." She pulled away and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "This might have all been my fault. What if I caused the fire?"

"You don't know that, honey."

"But what if I did? Emilia was supposed to graduate high school, and we were supposed to go to prom. She was supposed to get published and fall in love and get married and have kids. She was supposed to get so many more years. There was so much ahead of her. She had so many plans. And... And I may have taken all of that away from her!"

"April, you don't know that." Mrs Lowry held her daughter's hands. "April, there are so many possibilities. Maybe a stove was on in the house, maybe there was a faulty heater that caused the fire... There are so many possibilities, and-"

"That's my point! I need to know what happened, whether or not the truth tears me apart. I just don't... I don't know where to look. Nothing has been released to the public about the fire, and I'm not sure if anyone will ever know."

"I don't know what to say, April..." She looked over to April's laptop and gestured to it. "How about you contact Adam? Surely he has been informed about how the fire was caused."

She had a point. "You are right... That didn't cross my mind." Later that evening, after April and her mother spoke for about an hour about the whole situation and the ways they could go about it, April decided to message Adam. She remembered that she had him added on Twitter. His profile picture was of him and me at the beach from the previous summer. He was grinning ear to ear. Because I kept blinking when my parents were trying to take the photo, Adam had to hold that wide smile for a good minute, which had really annoyed him. He looked sun kissed, so alive... April looked sadly at the photo. She had seen him before he had left for New York; his sullen face, his prominent cheekbones... He was no longer the smiling, cheerful and optimistic person he used to be. She noticed that his last tweet was from quite a while ago, about a month before my parents and I had passed away. She messaged him saying hello and that she needed to talk to him about something important. And then for the rest of the evening until midnight, she waited for his message. She occupied herself with tedious little tasks; she organized her closet, she did questions from a worksheet that was not even required to hand in to the teacher. But whenever she checked her inbox, it was empty. It was ten to midnight by the time she logged off of Twitter and logged onto her email. She opened up the email where she had copy and pasted all of my poems I had emailed her over the years. And she began to type.

Hey guys! Hope you are enjoying this book so far :) If you are, then be sure to buy it to find out how it ends!