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When Joe meets Candy, it seems like a regular boy-meets-girl scenario. They chat over coffee, she gives him her number, and he writes her a song. But then Joe is drawn into Candy's world --- a world of drugs, violence, and desperation. As the dark truth about Candy's life emerges, Joe finds himself facing real danger at every twist and turn. Soon Joe's conflicting emotions begin to mirror Candy's, and he understands that falling in love just might be worth the struggle. This intoxicating tale of heartache, danger, and hope will enthrall teen readers.
press, agents, record company people…” Gina nodded, impressed. “Maybe I’ll come along.” “Yeah, that’d be good. You could bring Mike.” “OK, it’s a date.” I looked at her. “Have you told Dad yet?” “About me and Mike getting married?” “Yeah.” “I was going to tell him today. I thought he was staying at home.” “He’s gone to London with Mum. They’re going to see a show or something.” “I know.” Neither of us said anything for a while. I didn’t know if Gina wanted to talk about it, and I didn’t
people on the pathways—but there was something about her, some weird sense of detachment, that made me wonder what she was really seeing. It was as if she was living in her own little bubble, all wrapped up and warm inside, and everything outside the bubble was nothing more than a passing curiosity. “Are you all right?” I asked her. “Hmm?” “Are you OK?” “Fine.” She nodded. “Do you want to…uh…Do you want to talk about anything?” “Like what?” “I don’t know…anything. Where you live, what you
wear that all the time?” “Not always…” “It’s nice.” “Thanks.” “Why don’t you take it off?” “What?” “Take it off…I want to see if the rest of your hair is as messy as the bits I can see.” For some reason, I started feeling uncomfortable again. “Well…” I said, “you know, I have to get going soon…I’m late already.” She just looked at me. I sighed and took off my hat. Her eyes widened at the sight of my hair. “Wow! How do you get it like that? How do you get it so messy?” “It’s not easy…it
like that.” She stubbed out her cigarette and scratched her head. “God, I feel so dirty… Everything’s sticky and scabby…This bed stinks…” “Why don’t you go and have a wash?” I suggested. “I’ll change the bed for you—get some fresh sheets and stuff.” I stood up and went over to her. “Come on, I’ll give you a hand.” I helped her along to the bathroom, then went back and changed the bed. It wasn’t pleasant. Fresh sheets, fresh pillows, a fresh duvet. I cleaned up a bit—tissues, chocolate wrappers,
to die and her eyes went blank, and when she spoke, her voice was frail and empty. “All right,” she said, staring coldly at Mike. “You want to know what I want? Is that it? OK…if you really want to know, I’ll tell you…” Her breath caught in her throat. “I want to go home…OK? I want to go home…” Her eyes started glistening. “I want to be what I used to be…I want to say sorry…I don’t want to cry anymore…I just…I just…” Her voice broke down in tears. “I just want to make everything better…” She