you’re too invested, so just please let me do that, okay? I’m not depressed. I don’t need to get out more.
And I can’t be a regular teenager, because I’m a grenade.”
“Hazel,” Dad said, and then choked up. He cried a lot, my dad.
I’m going to go to my room and read for a while, okay? I’m fine. I really am fine; I just want to go read for a while.”
I started out trying to read this novel I’d been assigned,
but we lived in a tragically thin-walled home, so I could hear much of the whispered conversation that ensued.
My dad saying, “It kills me,” and my mom saying, “That’s exactly what she doesn’t need to hear,”
and my dad saying, “I’m sorry but—” and my mom saying, “Are you not grateful?” And him saying, “God, of course I’m grateful.”
I kept trying to get into this story but I couldn’t stop hearing them.
So I turned on my computer to listen to some music, and with Augustus’s favorite band, The Hectic Glow, as my sound track,
I went back to Caroline Mathers’s tribute pages, reading about how heroic her fight was, and how much she was missed,
and how she was in a better place, and how she would live forever in their memories,
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