Tommy Wallach

Before the asteroid we let ourselves be defined by labels: The athlete, the outcast, the slacker, the overachiever. But then we all looked up and everything changed. They said it would be here in two months. That gave us two months to leave our labels behind. Two months to become something bigger than what we'd been, something that would last even after the end. Two months to really live.

“I’ve got some questions for you. Was this story written about me?” I shrugged. “Yes or no?” I shrugged again, finally earning a little scowl, which somehow made the girl even more pretty. It brought a bloom to her pale cheeks and made sharp shelves of her cheekbones. “It’s very rude not to answer simple questions,” she said. I gestured for my journal, but she still wouldn’t give it to me. So I took out my pen and wrote I can’t on my palm. Then, in tiny letters below it, I finished the thought: Now don’t you feel like a jerk? Parker Santé hasn’t spoken a word in five years. While his classmates plan for bright futures, he skips school to hang out in hotels, killing time by watching the guests. But when he meets a silver-haired girl named Zelda Toth, a girl who claims to be quite a bit older than she looks, he’ll discover there just might be a few things left worth living for.