Fifteen years old. Fifteen years old and she hadn’t really lived. Mindlessly going through life, she had never really learned to interact fully with other people. Sure, there were those who had become friends with her, and she tried to be comfortable around them, but she just couldn’t. She couldn’t keep herself from feeling awkward and worrying about every word she said, every word someone spoke to her.

And yet, there was Max. The person she felt most comfortable and most awkward around at the same time. She felt she could actually talk to him, but for some reason, she was more scared of him than the others. She didn’t want to mess things up with him. She carefully guarded herself, but slowly began to open up. It was hard not to let him know all of her secrets at once. But there was one secret she could never tell him, never let him find out. If she did, the results would be terrifying…

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Max was 17. He didn’t want a lot of drama in his life, but drama seemed drawn to him. From one suicidal ex-girlfriend to the weird “new girl” who wasn’t so new anymore, he couldn’t get away from it. Was it his fault that he was innately friendly? Was it his fault that he cared about everyone?

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. But he had to give up on her. After all, last year she chose him instead. Ugh. He couldn’t believe that she would go out with a slime ball like him. He was glad when they broke up, though it hurt him terribly when he found out that he left her broken and hurt.

He wanted to fix things, really, he did. He just didn’t know how…