KELLY

I love books.

I know it's crazy, but they're practically my life. Most of the people I hang around with like the same books as me, or eat them up as ravenously, as - well, a Dauntless with chocolate cake.

(See, that's how much I love them. Beware, because I'm going to be throwing references around faster than The Flash.)

When I read, it's like nothing else matters. It's clichéd, yes, but it's true (there goes another cliché). I can stop thinking about the stupid problems I have, how I don't fit in, why I don't seem to be good at anything, what homework I haven't done, and I can look into another totally different universe. I find myself fighting monsters alongside Percy Jackson, in Hogwarts with Hermione Granger, or chasing clues in a desperate clue hunt with Robert Langdon.

It's a time when I can forget my insecurities about my crush (does he like my best friend?), my faults (why can't I ever get it right?), and even simpler questions we struggle with every day.

Why can't I fit in?

Why am I so... Normal?

Why don't I have a spark?

That's why I read - writing drives me crazy, to be honest, because that's when the deep thinking comes in and I realize what a monster I really am.

That's why I read - yes, it's selfish, but sometimes it's nice to lose myself in the problems of others.

That's why I read - sometimes, I want to forget I even appeared on this planet.

...

"Hey! Zap!" A voice that's vaguely familiar calls out from behind me. I turn around, shoving a few people in the crowded hallway in the process, and come face to face with a beanie-clad, curly haired guy who's got paint on his shirt. "Kelly Anne Zapata, right? Congrats!"

I nod, slightly confused as to why this dude would apporach me. Kids who don't know me too well call me Zap, and my closer friends call me Key. Due to a Starbucks mishap a few years ago in which a spelling error cause some confusion and my current nickname - it's stuck for FOUR YEARS. FOUR YEARS, people! Get over it!

Anyway, the guy looks familiar - I think he's from my AP Calculus class. His name is... Jay? Jake? Uhh...

I'm still attempting to remember his name when he holds out his hand. "Jeremiah Whitaker." (well, at least I got the first letter right) "But you can call me Jerry. President of the art club, and in your Calculus class." I shake his hand gingerly, because he's got graphite smudges all over the side of his palm as well as more paint stains.

"Okay... So... What's this about?"

Jeremiah tilts his head. "You don't know? Oh. Okay. Well, your art piece won the art competition."

"Wait. What? Me?" Usually I would've come up with some retort of some kind, but not today. I didn't even know there was an art competition, much less enter it. What?

Jerry (Jeremiah? What? I'm really confused right now) must sense my confusion, because he slips out a folded photocopy of something out of a blue folder he's clutching under his arm, peers at a name written on the back, and gives it to me. "Unless there's another Kelly Anne Zapata in the school, then yeah, it's you."

I read the name on the back. Weirdly enough, it's mine. "Uh... Thanks? But I didn't enter the art competition..."

He shrugs. "Doesn't matter. Somebody submitted the drawing with your name on the form, so..." He trails off.

And it hits me. I know who submitted the drawing. "Oh, okay. Sorry, totally forgot that I submitted this. But thanks! How'd you know about this?" I asked him.

"President of the art club has its perks," Jeremiah claps his folder shut and shakes my hand again (wow, this guy is formal. Or just really keen to share whatever germs he has). "You should enlist. You're... You're a really good artist." He stares longingly at the piece of paper I'm holding in my hand, and I wonder what I drew that could possibly have won a school-wide art competition. I barely let my best friends see my sketchbooks, much less submit a drawing in a competition to have it criticized in front of the entire student body.

So I go off to find the person who I'm positive was the one who submitted my drawing.

...

Mrs. Robinson is a little like a bulldog. Squinty and slightly scary, but once you get to know her, she's got a soft side too. Just that the soft side doesn't really come up too much. She's okay if you blend in and do your work, which is what I happen to excel at. But if she gets mad, she can assign wicked long English essays that take months to finish.

"Hey, Mrs. Robinson," I wave as I walk into my English classroom, which she happens to teach. Recently we've been reading To Kill A Mockingbird, which is honestly a whole lot better than some of the stupid, dramatic, lovey books that people write nowadays.

Mrs. Pierce is always early for homeroom - there hasn't been a day in the year when I arrive earlier than her (or maybe it's just my aptitude for arriving just in time or late). "Hi, Kelly." Then she leans in and whispers. "Congratulations on the art competition. I had no idea you had so many talents!"

I blush. "Thanks, Mrs. Robinson." I'm not too good with the compliments, maybe because I'm not used to getting them.

She must be in a really good mood, today, then. The last time she ever complimented anyone was Lola Martin on her essay on Pride and Prejudice because it was so deep, it floored the whole class.

Until she found out that Lola had just copied and pasted out of Sparknotes.

(Well that was the mother of all Robinson meltdowns, if you ask me.)

But then she shakes her head at me. ""But don't be getting all cocky about it, Missy. I don't want anymore B's on your tests."

I sigh. Maybe not such a great mood after all.

Just then, Cara Price walks in. Her Native American skin positively glows in the morning sunlight, and her black hair is easily swept into a messy ponytail that looks effortless but that actually takes a lot of time to tie and style. She's wearing a light blue t-shirt and olive green cargo pants, plus ratty sneakers that are grosser than the bottom of our school desks, and that's saying something. I on't say she's extremely popular, but she's well-liked and makes friends wherever she goes.

She also happens to be my best friend.

"Sup, Key," she says and gives me a high-five. I slide into my chair, next to her, which usually gets us into a whole lot of trouble with Mrs. Robinson (e.g., we make more noise than Mandrakes sometimes). And Mrs. Robinson usually gives us a death glare so we shut up.

I look at Cara. And then I remember what I have on: A pair of Cory's old, black skinny jeans (my older brother, by the way), and a too-big, bright yellow Hufflepuff shirt. My hair's in a tangled braid down my back, the result of Katy's (youngest sister's) attempts to braid it this morning. So. Messy Hufflepuff kid, with big black spectacles from reading too much, and ratty Vans.

Let me reiterate that I'm not exactly Miss Popular in my school.

"Nice shirt, except Slytherin pride, forever," Cara smiles, and I laugh. Then I remember.

I whack her on the shoulder with my English paper on To Kill a Mockingbird. "You idiot! You have exposed my secret artwork to the world!" I wave the folded-up picture in her face. "What were you thinking?"

She smirks. "I was thinking that your picture was awesome, therefore I submitted it, like any good friend. I mean, you're hiding like a... Like a... what' the word?"

"Hermit. Recluse. Solitary. Loner. Ascetic. Eremite. Ancho - "

"OKAY! OKAY! Genius girl, whatever. Go do your SATS. But anyway it's finally the chance to show the world your brilliance!"

"I'm not brilliant," I mutter, and dump To Kill a Mockingbird on my desk. "I can barely speak if I'm talking to Oscar."

Immediately, I recognize that this is a mistake. "Mm-hm..." A wicked grin spreads across her face. Dammit. "OH-HO! CARKEY! SHIP! SHIP!"

I hear a bunch of snickers from behind me and I sink lower into my chair. Thank goodness there are at least five "Osacar's" in the school.

While I am calculating the probability of anybody figuring out exactly which Oscar it is, Cara whacks me on the arm. "Speak of the devil, and the devil himself will appear!" She starts biting her lip and fluttering her eyelashes at me excessively like she's trying to cause Hurricane Katrina with her eyelashes alone.

Oscar walks over.

He's wearing black jeans, straight cut, and a black shirt with a question mark on it. His hoodie is pulled up over his spiky brown hair and his glasses make him look serious - but that's not the case. He's crazy, weird and hilarious, and extremely smart, and Cara likes to pit us against each other occasionally in what she likes to call "tests of intelligence" but really is what she believes is matchmaking us. The last time was a poetry slam, I think. Didn't turn out to well. One of us ended a phrase with 'nut'.

Oscar flashes a quick smile at us - probably at Cara, anyway - and I smile but slide my eyes over to her. She's grinning madly, her smile lighting up the room, and she waves him over. "Oscar! Hey! Did you finish the essay?"

I hunker over To Kill a Mockingbird and my phone and stick an earbud into my ear, while Cara chatters to Oscar. He slides into the seat behind her, and I try not to act weirdly because I know Cara will use it against me later. Sherlock's theme greets me, and I smile - music is probably the second best way into another world. Every song has a particular feel, a different memory stuck to it, which surfaces whenever I hear the song.

Mrs. Robinson taps on her desk with her metal ruler. "Everyone, stand for the pledge." Everyone rises, says it, then sits back down. The announcements come on - which teacher's birthday it is, the lunch menu, blah blah, the date of the spring formal...'

Just as I am zoning out, I hear my name. "...Kelly Anne Zapata for winning the literary art competition! Second place goes to Samuel MacPherson, and third place to Lily Hakim! Congratulations, all of you! Please collect your prizes from Principal Breen's office on Monday, after school."

The whole class seems to know that I'm sitting here, and they all start whooping. Cara grins nezt to me, and Oscar leans over. "Great job, Zap. What'd you draw?"

I mutely unfold the piece of paper I'm still clutching in my hand. It's a crude photocopy of a pencil portrait I did a month or two ago of my best friend, Austin. He's a muscly football player, but he's also intensely funny and someone I've known since I was born. In the drawing, he's curled up at the end of a sofa, reading a book. I can't remember which one. The details in his face are shaded in, his clothes realistic, and if my picture is on display, it would be pretty easy for anyone to recognize him (he's a popular kid). It's detailed, but I don't think that's the thing that won me the competition. What is special about the drawing is that a light seems to be shining out from the pages of the books, lighting up his face from below, like he's looking into another bright, new world.

That's how I feel, every time I read a book.

...

When we are released for lnch break, I'm ambushed by what seems to be two armored tanks. Of course, it's just Cory and Autin being immature and over-excited, but I still hug them back.

"YOU WON THE ART COMPETITION, LITTLE SIS!" Cory beams and musses my hair. I attempt to flick his hand away but being crushed between a football player and a basketball one doesn't really let me do that.

"C-can't... Breathe..." I mutter, and Austin releases me, but Cor loops his arm over my shoulder.

"Told you!" Cara bounds out behind us, a ball of energy. "She keeps saying she's not talented but you're! A! Freaking! Genius!"

"I get it, Cara. Gimme a break," I roll my eyes, and find Oscar on the edge of our foursome. Since we were babies, Cory, Austin and I have spent all our time together, Cory and Austin sharing a baby cot, and both of them being my first visitors when I was born a year later. We grew up as neighbors together, and when Cara moved to the area, I was eight, and we made friends in school and became four. Oscar only transferred in two years ago, so he doesn't really hang out with us that much, but with other friends. Cara is the one who introduced us to him - she seems to know every single person in our school. Which is not a lie.

Austin slings his arm around me from my other side and squeezes me. "Come on, Key. You're a freaking genius at everything, especially art. Let's go see what the other kids drew."

Halfway down the hall, Cara bumps into some kids from the drama club, and she peels away from us and bends seamlessly inyo their loud group. I smirk at her from between Cor and Austin - though they don't have their arms around me anymore, Cory gives my hair an occasional ruffle, just to emphasize his height. I might be tall, but Cory's still taller.

We pass by a tight knot of girls, most in heels and short skirts or shorts. Some wear skin-tight jeans; all look the same. Popular kids, I think to myself, and from the center of the group, I see a familiar face. Cassie Cordan. Hottest girl in school, a year above me, and officially one my personal tormentor. Just a few weeks ago, she asked me to set her up with Cory, and I laughed in her face. She gave me a threat, but... So far, she hasn't carried it out. So no sweat.

A small crowd has gathered around the art display case, and I see a shock of curly, red hair in the crowd. Must be Angie - the electric guitarist in our band. She whirls around, a mini tornado, when I tap her shoulder, and grins broadly.

"ZAP! You won! I had no idea you could draw so well!" She bubbles, her curly red hair flying. "Seriously, you should join the art club - but don't quit band." Angie's so talkative, we joke that she makes our ears bleed more with her voice than with her electric guitar playing. But she's probably the best guitarist in our school, and I think it's because of her skills we won the last Battle of the Bands.

She pulls me into the crowd, leaving Cory and Austin behind. "Look at that beauty!"

I smile. "Thanks," and look up at my artwork. It's been carefully framed; the paper I used wasn't that great quality.

Lots of people are slapping Austin on the back and teasing him when I manage to edge out of the crowd. My guess is because he's in the picture, but he still gapes at it.

"Woah..." he murmurs. "That's really good..." Then he recovers. "Betcha it was my pretty face that won you the competition, Key." He winks, making me roll my eyes.

The other two pictures are really good too - one is a cartoon-style drawing of a fairy emerging from a whirlpool in a book's pages. I vaguely remember that drawing in Dork Diaries, but it's still quite artistic and I don't think Mr. Hedge (art teacher) reads those kinds of books. The one drawn by Samuel McPherson, who won second, is a realistic watercolor of Ender's Game. (I love that book, by the way!)

I push my way back out of the crowd, and suddenly hear a familiar voice that I am not at all comfortable with hearing.

"Great job, Kelly."

I wince. Great. This is gonna be so embarrassing, I'll die before I turn around.

Unfortunately, I am still alive when the time I do manage to turn around and plaster a smile onto my face. "Uh, hey, Kodan... Thanks?"

A little history might be relevant here.

Basically Kodan and I got to know each other after our moms met during a PTA meeting in seventh grade. And as usual what happened is that we thought liked each other, and after the feelings of euphoria and happiness passed, I realized that I didn't really like him. And that he was actually pretty annoying. What with all his incessant jokes and puns that weren't even funny (no, I am not going to make that pun).

Anyway when I told him I didn't actually like him after long deliberations with Cor, Oz and Cara, he basically replied that he didn't like me either an was just reciprocating. Which was a little upsetting because WAS HE RECIPROCATING WHEN HE SAID THAT HE LIKED ME?

Ahem.

Anyway.

He smiles awkwardly, that awkward smile which looks like a walrus crossed with the Joker. Not pretty. I glance behind him, where Cory and Austin are making stupid lovey faces and heart-shapes with their fingers and mouthing SHIP SHIP SHIP like the immature little poops they are.

I'm about to blurt something out that will make the situation even more awkward when Cara swoops in and rescues me. "Hi Kodan," she chirps brightly, flashing her signature Cara Pierce smile. "Gotta go for lunch. See you around!" She drags me off by the arm.

"You saved my life back there. I am eternally grateful to your awesomeness," I let out a breath.

Cara shakes her head and laughs. "You owe me. I could've helped Cory and Austin ship, you know..."

"Don't even think about it. How many times do I have to tell every freaking person I know that it's over?!"

"Until you die," she deadpans, and let's go of my arms to race to the lunch queue. Due to my state of extreme laziness and general unfit body, I get there last.

Austin is in front of me and he rolls his eyes as I stop behind him. "Ladies first. However, you have to go jogging with me tomorrow or you'll fail P.E."

"I'm not a lady," but step in front of him anyway. "And nope, I don't think P.E. is a necessity in life."

"It is when there's food and you're running for it," he smirks and zips up my backpack for me. "And close your backpack next time."

"Yes, mother," I mutter and check the lunch menu. Fried rice, steamed chicken, and stir-fry vegetables. Awesome. "Yes, Asian."

Cara, in front of me, fills up her tray with a teensy bit of rice and a lot of potato salad. "I have no idea how you can eat that stuff, much less like it."

"I have no idea how you can eat that bowl of mayonnaise, and like it," I retort, while piling stir-fry leafy vegetables and fried rice onto my plate. Austin, beside me, has taken more food than I think is humanly possible to finish in one meal, but then again, he isn't human. He's a football player.

(And I'm not going to object because I usually steal his food.)

I pay for my meal and turn around into Cory's chest. "Personal space? Ever heard of that?" I grumble, but he smirks at me.

"One word: Oscar."

"Why can nobody shut the hell up about my life!?" I mutter, but still peek around him. Oscar is chatting to Cara, smiling slightly awkwardly.

"You're staring," Cory teases, and Austin rolls his eyes next to me, grabbing my shoulder.

"Let's go find Clare and Becky. Did you see them?" He asks innocently, but I know he's covering for me.

Cara hops over, dragging Oscar along. "Yeah, they went to find Charlie. Let's go find them before they die from laughter again." I mouth a thank you to Austin, and he shakes his head. Yes, he teases me, but not as much as Cory. Usually he or Cara are the ones who come to the rescue.

Becky, Clare, and Charlie are sitting at our usuall table, laughing so hard, they can't be breathing properly. A bit about Charlie - I've known him from music classes together when we were two, and mostly when we meet we end up laughing a lot because we have too many really bad inside jokes. He's also seriously talented in music, and can do anything with a keyboard and computer software. He arranges pop songs for the school orchestra and band, and mashes fifty songs in really cool medleys for any special event (and he DJ's for school dances, which is super-cool because he puts in all these weird songs by P.A.I.N.T. and other people).

I slide onto the bench next to Charlie, and Cory, Cara, Austin and Oscar join us.

Cara wiggles her eyebrows as Oscar slides in next to me, but I roll my eyes, even though there are a billion butterflies carousing in my stomach. I quietly note that she is the one sitting opposite him, and dig in to my rice.

Words swirl around me - everyone talking, me watching, me standing on the edge. As usual. It's not that I'm not a part of them, it's just that sometimes, I can be apart.

A lot of the time, I find myself drifting. I can't talk to them, I don't feel with them. I feel my mind going blank, like I can't think about what they're saying to me, or it just doesn't feel relevant. Or I can't pay attention.

I see them - Charlie and Becky and Clare laughing, Austin and Cory watching a video on Cor's phone, Cara and Oscar sharing a pair of earphones.

I think about Cara and Oscar, and how I do like him, but he seems to like someone else more. Namely, Cara. I think about how everyone seems to prefer Cara to me.

I think about everyone, and I don't see where I fit in.

So, when I get up to leave, it isn't very strange that nobody notices.

...

Stepping into the library is almost surprising everytime I do it. Somehow, the smell of books and the pure silence is calming, the atmosphere of carpets and softness, the feeling of being completely comfortable no matter who you are is the best in the world.

I don't notice that the librarian is new until she smiles at me.

The first thing I notice is that she is reading a thick book - thicker even than the thickest Harry Potter. She has caramel hair, tied in a braid down her left shoulder, and the lightest eyes I have ever seen on anybody - they're piercing yet peaceful. Like the sea, just before a tsunami. She's... Nineteen? Twenty-something? I can't tell - her face is ageless, unreadable. She has a white, collared shirt on, rolled up skinny jeans, and strappy sandals. Like she just walked out of the Carribbean.

I snap out of my reverie when she coughs lightly. "Hello?"

"Oh. Uh, sorry," I mumble, and look away. "You just reminded me of somebody."

She laughs lightly. "It is fine. Do you need any help?"

"Should be okay. I'll just read over there. Thanks." My usual seat is empty - a squishy, red chair right in front of the librarian's desk because then nobody harrasses me there. I sink down and sigh, and pull out Paper Towns (fifth time reading it) from my bag. I'm just about to continue reading it when soeone plunks their butt down opposite me. Without looking up, I know it's Cory, partly because I recognize the sound of his footsteps, partly because nobody else would dare disturb me in this holy place.

"What."

He pulls my book away. "And you're expecting me not to notice that you just up and walked off during lunch!?"

I don't have a reply for that.

He raises an eyebrow. "I know you left because of Cara and Oscar."

I look at him over my spectacles. "...and?"

"And you're feeling left out," he rolls his eyes. "Why don't you, for once, try to pay attention?"

"Oh har-har. That's rich. So it's now my fault that Oscar doesn't like me? I never said I wanted him to, did I?"

Cory pushes up his glasses and leans forward. "Okay, look. For once in your life can you stop being so damn stubborn and listen to me? Comparing yourself to Cara isn't going to make Oscar like you, and neither is it going to make you 'fit in' more. You're perfectly fine being yourself."

I stare at him. "The hell is wrong with you? You're acting mature."

"Yeah, that's because I'm far more mature than you'll ever be," he smirks.

I glare at him. "Fat chance. I thought I was getting this 'nice older brother' vibe, but then you ruined it."

"Oh, come on, I'm always nice," he stands up and messes up my hair. "Now are you going to come back to lunch or are you going to stay here and be a loner?"

"Correction: I am improving my mind," I tell him. "Cassie Cordan is singlehandedly lowering the IQ of the entire canteen by simply sitting there."

"That's scientifically impossible, but fine, up to you," he shrugs and walks off.

I roll my eyes and go back to my book. Cory has good intentions, but around me, he just jokes around too much.

"So... That was your brother?" When I turn around, the librarian is sitting quietly at her desk, looking expecantly at me.

"How'd you guess?"

She shrugs. "He annoys you, yet you put up with him."

I snort. "That's true." There's something about the way that she talks that seems a bit off, like she's not from here. Maybe it's the certain way she forms her words, or the pauses a tiny bit at different intervals. "So. Why'd you take the job?"

She smiles. "I needed to catch up on a few things. Books are the best way to do it." She goes back to reading her book - now, I realise, it's an encyclopedia. Reading is an obsession to me, but an encyclopedia?! And what would she need to catch up on?

Just then, the bell rings. I nod. "Well... Have fun with that," I tell her. And when I leave, I can't shake the feeling that I've met her before. In another life, in another world, but... How?