Life Happens Next Read Free Page B

in a lot of fights—and I’ve seen him lose his temper more than once. It’s not a pretty sight. But in the past few weeks, his anger seems to have lessened. I’m glad for him. He’s always been an amazing brother, protective and kind. I love him.
    He loves me a lot too. And he’s proved it in the most important ways. My brother saved my life even though he doesn’t know it. Paul phoned from Spokane just a few minutes after they won their basketball game, the night I was talking about before, the night that my dad planned to “end my pain.” Paul had wanted to share the moment with me. Dad was leaning over me, a pillow in his hands, when the phone rang. Dad answered. He and Paul talked. I was out of my body in a seizure during most of their conversation, but when I got back from my seizure, I heard Dad say, “I’ll tell him, Paul, I promise.”
    When he hung up the phone, Dad’s face was covered in tears and he said to me, “Your brother asked me to tell you that he dedicated his game to you—and that he loves you.” Then Dad stood and leaned over me in my crib, tossed the pillow away, and pulled my blankets back up to my neck. He whispered, “You sleep now, Shawn. Sweet dreams.” And he walked quietly out of my bedroom, closing the door behind him. That was the end of my worries about Dad putting an end to my pain. And it was also the beginning of the rest of my life.
    Today I watch Paul and Ally make eye contact. Neither says a word but both smile and blush. A long pause. Paul finally says, “Hi, Ally.”
    She says, “Hi …,” pausing a moment longer, then adding, “Congratulations.” More blushing. They keep staring at each other.
    In an instant my heart breaks into about a thousand pieces. I feel tears come to my eyes, totally involuntary tears since I can’t make myself cry any more than I can make myself not cry. My breathing, also out of my control, starts to speed along with my racing heartbeat. Sweat pours down my armpits and covers my forehead and temples. Ally Williamson, the girl I love more than anybody in the world, the girl I fantasize might someday love me in return, is going to be with my brother.
    Paul is a great athlete—muscular and tough and brave, the kind of guy every guy envies, the kind of guy every girl dreams about. And even though I love Ally, want her, desperately obsess about her, and even though I noticed her first, Paul has no way of knowing how I feel. It’s pretty obvious Ally likes him too. How can I fantasize about Ally if she’s gonna be with Paul?
    Man, no kidding, could life suck any worse than this? Seriously, if I can’t fantasize about loving Ally, if I can’t even hope and dream of it, what’s the point in being alive? And really, as long as guys like Paul are around, how can somebody like me ever hope to connect with anybody, not just Ally but with anyone ? Maybe when my dad was thinking about “ending my pain,” he had the right idea, even if he doesn’t have a clue what real pain is for me.
    Okay, I know, here I am, the Heartbreak Retard running wild. But I don’t care. Hey! For the first time, I feel like every other teen with a broken heart—baaaaaddddd!

6
    I t’s been eight days since Ally and Paul got together—the eight worst, most self-pitying-pathetic-little-me days of my entire life. What started with blushing and staring into each other’s eyes like a teen couple in one of those dreadful Lifetime (should be called Lifelong) TV movies has kept marching right along for Paul and Ally. Every stinking day.
    A big difference for me between being in love and being brokenhearted is that nothing changes in my world except for how I feel. I can’t get up and walk around depressed, or break stuff, or give killer stares to total strangers just because they’re too happy or something. My hopeless inability to connect with