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After all, how often do we get a second chance?

Jay Asher

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Jay Asher
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: September 30
Novelist
Writer
Arcadia
California
Second
Chance
Often

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I swear, guys in groups are capable of the stupidest things. Like war, Kellan says, heaping napkins and ketchup packets onto her tray. And jumping off rooftops. And lighting their farts on fire, she says.
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A lot of you cared, just not enough.
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And everyone knows you can’t disprove a rumor.
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Maybe it didn’t seem like a big deal to you Zach. But now, I hope you understand. My world was collapsing. I needed those notes. I needed any hope those notes might have offered. And you? You took that hope away. You decided I didn’t deserve to have it.
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That’s when I said it. That’s when I whispered to her, “I’m so sorry.” Because inside, I felt so happy and sad at the same time. Sad that it took me so long to get there. But happy that we got there together.
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I hate not knowing what to believe anymore. I hate not knowing what's real.
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I decided to find out how people at school might react if one of the students never came back.
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When you write a book for publication, you're writing it for other people to read.
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We all know the sound a camera makes when it snaps a picture. Even some of the digitals do it for nostalgia’s sake.
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And at some point, the struggle becomes too much-too tiring-and you consider letting go. Allowing tragedy... or whatever... to happen.
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I could picture life—school and everything else—continuing on without me. But I could not picture my funeral. Not at all. Mostly because I couldn’t imagine who would attend or what they would say.
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Do you remember the last thing you said to me? The last thing you did to me? And what was the last thing I said to you? Because trust me when I said it I knew it was the last thing I’d ever say.
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We didn't get that chance because I was afraid. Afraid I had no chance with you.
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I don't know exactly what it is, but it looks like interconnected websites where people show their photos and write about everything going on in their lives, like whether they found a parking spot or what they ate for breakfast. But why? Josh asks.
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Stories about sensitive issues like sex, drugs or sexual assault, suicide and teen drinking, are often censored because people just don't want to talk about those things. It's not that these things don't happen, but when they're shared in a fictional setting, for some reason they make some people uncomfortable.
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My breathing begins to slow. The tension in my muscles starts to relax. Then, a click in the headphones. A slow breath of air. I open my eyes to bright moonlight. And Hannah, with warmth. Thank you.
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And after I dropped him off, I took the longest possible route home... I explored alleys and hidden roads I never knew existed. I discovered neighborhoods entirely new to me. And finally... I discovered I was sick of this town and everything in it.
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The longer you wait, and this is true, the slower the hands will move.
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This time, for the first time, I saw the possibilities in giving up. I even found hope in it.
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