I remember the funeral. The quiet. The sideways hugs paired with mumbled words of attempted comfort. I remember staring down into my mother's casket, tears streaming down my face as I looked at her lifeless body. It was the first time I had ever really experienced loss. I had only been to one other funeral, my grandfather's, but I was only three at the time and don't remember it. The pain I felt after she passed away was excruciating. For months after that day I wouldnt talk, I wouldn't eat, I wouldn't do anything. My father eventually forced me to go back to school, where I disconnected myself from my friend group entirely. They tried to help. They tried to be there for me, but one by one they left. I don't blame them. I was almost as dead emotionally as mother was physically. For three years I remained that way, until finally in my sophomore year of highschool I found my saving grace. A boy named Calvin Hughes.

Now, I know what you're thinking, and your wrong. This isn't a romance. The rest of this novel isn't going to be horribly sappy and filled with...