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staring vacantly into space with this sort of sad look on his face. Maybe I wouldn’t be happy. Maybe I walk around looking sad too.
    Because of my hamstring injury, I haven’t really won anything big, yet. We lost the semifinal in football. Hamstring killed the outdoor track season.
    Would I be happy if I really won the big one like he did? I don’t know.
    You were happy when you got invited to Germany, right?
    Are we through? I mean, is our relationship done?
    Oh, I’m having a great time writing this!
    Screw it. No more writing. I’m going to play Skee-Ball on my phone.
    Holy nuts. I’ve written a crapload of pages.

August 15th, 3:31 p.m.
O’Hare Airport, Part IV
    Skee-Ball?
    I freaking hate Skee-Ball! Yet I insist on playing it over and over and over. My finger is kind of sweaty and it keeps getting stuck on my screen, so the ball won’t roll right. I got my high score like three weeks ago, and I can’t get close to it anymore for some reason (I lost my Skee-Skills!), but I keep rolling the freaking phone balls anyway.
    While I was playing, this little like five-year-old kid came over and sat on the chair next to me and watched. I asked if he wanted to play, but he shook his head, no (really slow, with his mouth open like, “Nuh-uh,” which was pretty funny). Then after I bounced a ball off the 100 hole, I shouted, “Dick Butkus!” really loud and the kid ran away and his dad glared at me.
    Why must I screw up all the time?
    At one time, I thought I’d be a great Skee-Ball champion…
    No more Skee-Ball.
    How about this?
    Let’s just get this over, okay?
    When we finally talked on Wednesday night that week, the reason I sounded distant is because I felt distant. Andrew wasn’t talking to me. Jerri wasn’t talking to me. Gus wasn’t talking to me. Karpinski had called me a wuss for not throwing toilet paper on Gus’s yard. Reese does whatever Karpinski does, so he called me a wuss too. At lunch on Tuesday, because I was totally stewing in my own meatballs, Cody told me I better shake off this stupid crap because I’ll soon be facing a lot worse stress than just a faked porn picture of me.
    â€œYou think Ohio State fans are gonna be all ‘Welcome to the Horseshoe, Rein Stone’ when you go in there to play football in college?”
    â€œWhat?” Apparently the Horseshoe is the Ohio Stadium’s nickname. I had no idea.
    â€œPeople aren’t nice. They don’t like success. Shake it off, man,” Cody said.
    Yeah, but it wasn’t just the porn pic, was it? I hadn’t told anyone about my hamstring. I didn’t tell anyone about you or Andrew.
    Shake it off? Not so easy.
    The reason I didn’t react at all when you said, “Should we take a break this summer?” is because I was a total basket case, Aleah. No, I didn’t want to take a break. I don’t know what a break is. But my mouth didn’t work and my chest hurt so I couldn’t breathe and I was mad at you for even saying that.
    (You know I tried calling you in May. You know I texted you a lot. You didn’t ever respond. You were already on a break. I didn’t want the break.)
    When does it end?
    Man! What a sad story!
    Shake it off, Rein Stone!
    If it makes you feel any better, you weren’t the only person I treated badly during those twenty-four hours. The next morning, Thursday morning of that bullshit week, Andrew came into the living room while I was putting on my shoes and said, “Felton. It’s okay. I forgive you for missing my concert.”
    Before you hate me for what I did to Andrew, you should know I hate me for it worse. Okay? Also, I hadn’t slept for three days and I was constantly on the edge of barfing and I hadn’t been able to run all out in track and there was a track meet that night and I was so upset about you…I just sort of went illogically mean.
    There is no excuse.
    He said,