18 Things Read Online Free PDF

bat.
    “You’re lucky to be alive.” From what I could tell, there wasn’t a scratch on him.
    Adopting a pondering pose, elbow on knee, hand clasping his chin like
The Thinker
statue, he said, “Am I?”
    I shrugged. “I guess. At least that’s what they tell me.”
    He stretched his legs in front of him, then placed one ankle on top of the other. “Yeah, it’s weird because there was this moment where I thought for sure I was dead. I was lying on the ground, covered in glass and blood, and then I felt like I was floating and staring down at myself. Before I could look around for the other kid, I blacked out. When I woke up, I was home. I don’t even remember the hospital.”
    I shifted in my chair. The similarity of our situations made me uncomfortable. Two accidents, the feeling of responsibility I was positive we shared, the floating above our bodies, even though that didn’t happen for me until the pills. I wasn’t ready to tell him about the pills, though. “Did the other kid make it?”
    He uncrossed his ankle and put the other foot on top. “My parents told me he was doing better but wouldn’t even let me see him. I wrote a letter to apologize and mailed it the next day, then went to court. The judge revoked my license for a year, and I was sentenced to therapy.” He smirked and twirled his finger in the air in mock fashion. “That’s why I’m here so early for my appointment. I’m at the mercy of my parents’ schedule to drop me off at places. So, what are you in for?”
    Did I like this guy? He was confident and weird and cute and I dunno. But I realized I’d been at ease from the moment I saw him. “Conner, my best friend”—
and secret crush
—“since I was five, was killed by a lightning strike while we were sailing last month, and I feel responsible. I wasn’t able to save him.”
    Nate’s eyes were the color of the ocean, and he narrowed them at me as his eyebrows drew together. “You shouldn’t blame yourself.”
    “That’s what everyone tells me. But it’s easy for you to say. Your guy lived. Mine died.”
    He stood, and I noted he was about average height, maybe five-foot-ten, then sat in the chair next to me. Nate shifted so we were face to face. “I’m really sorry to hear about your friend. And I’m sorry if I’m scaring you with all the heavy. I ramble a lot. My mom says I suffer from verbal diarrhea, among other things.”
    I looked at my hands in my lap, took a deep breath, and counted to ten, trying to decide if I wanted to laugh or cry. Instead, I just muttered, “Thanks, and it’s okay.”
    “So, is this lady any good?” He nodded toward Dr. Judy’s office.
    I shrugged. “I dunno. I mean, I always thought talk was cheap. But maybe…”
    He smiled, leaning a little closer. “Yeah, I’ve always been an action kind of guy. Some might call me an adrenaline junkie.”
    Dr. Judy swung open her door. “Olga, I’m ready for you now.”
    Looking over at Nate, I held out my hand this time. “It was nice to meet you.”
    “Same here.”
    Dr. Judy waved to Nate before inviting me in. Her wavy, butterscotch colored hair fell over her tiny shoulders, making her look angelic. “Did you bring your journal?”
    I started my weekly grief counseling sessions with Dr. Judy the day after my pill episode. That’s what I called it in my head, ‘the pill episode,’ not ‘suicide attempt.’ I still didn’t think I was suicidal, no matter what everyone else said. Swallowing all those pills was a terrible mistake. The only thought I had at the time was
I’m tired
, tired of hurting, tired of guilt, tired of sadness, tired of pain, tired, tired, tired.
    During our first session, Dr. Judy tried to get to know me by asking about my interests. Sailing definitely wasn’t making My Favorite Hobbies list anymore, so I shrugged and mentioned writing. She suggested I keep a journal. Last week, she asked if I would bring in my journal and read a page aloud. Mostly the pages were