a/n Sorry for not updating! Hopefully I will have more time now, maybe possibly. I hope you like this chapter! :) Review please!

Disclaimer: I do not own Looking for Alaska, or any of its characters. The brilliant John Green does. :)

two hundred and twenty eight days later

or

one day before

I turned my head back against the Colonel's arm to see a skinny boy running toward us. Well, not exactly running, more like trying to walk slowly and cool-like, but I could see the excitement on his face, even from so far away. Abruptly he stopped, about fifty feet from us, and turned around, waving. I realized it was to his parents. I smiled; at least his parents were nice enough to drive him here. In a few seconds he had turned back to us, and was approaching the Colonel and me.

The Colonel quickly stood up, smiling. He and Pudge hugged, which was a little weird to me. I mean, obviously I'd seen guys hug before, but they looked like their hug was commonplace, that they had done it before. From that, I got the distinct impression that they had been through something terrible together. But also that they had gotten through it, together.

"Hey man, how was your summer?" The Colonel asked Pudge after they stopped hugging.

Pudge ran his hand through his medium length sandy brown hair, still apparently unaware of my presence,

"Okay. Definitely not as fun as being here, though." Despite his smile, his eyes had a shadow to them.

The Colonel then turned and gestured to me,

"Pudge, allow me to introduce Gemma. She is from Florida, too," Then he turned to me inquisitively, "What school did you go to anyway, I never asked."

Pudge was looking at me, surprise in his face, so I stammered through my answer,

"Uh…I went to Orange Grove High, in Tampa. You?" I smiled at him, as friendly as I could, looking straight into his eyes, and he broke my gaze. Ouch.

"Me too. How weird." Pudge turned to the Colonel, and whispered something in his ear. I thought I heard "popular" and "weekday warrior" but I couldn't be sure. I felt incredibly awkward, sitting in the swing trying not to look like I was eavesdropping. So I got up, and they turned to me, with calculating gazes,

"I should probably go finish unpacking….." Even though I didn't need to, "And get ready for school on Monday," Which I also didn't need to do, "I'll see you guys later." And I walked away before they could say anything.

I fought back tears as I walked back to my room. This really wasn't like me; I didn't really care what anyone thought of me. But the fact that he knew who I was and I barely remembered him, just as some guy who didn't really have friends and was in maybe one of my classes. But he knew me. Because I had been popular. I opened my door as I realized what I was hoping for had just been shattered. Despite my reluctance at coming here, I wanted a fresh start. Somewhere where no one knew me and Miles had ruined it.

He knew me, well; he thought he knew me enough to make a judgment. It sparked a little anger through my sadness. How dare he make such a snap judgment about me, based on my looks and the people I used to hang out with. I jumped on my bed and pulled out one of my books, poems by Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass. It was one of my favorites. A few minute later I rolled over and flipped open my cell phone, unable to concentrate on Whitman's words for some reason. I had texts, but a lot less then I had had this morning. Most of them said something like, "I'm so sorry, but here…." Blah blah blah some stereotypical response that could only make me feel worse. I decided not to reply, and in anger, I turned my phone off and threw it across my room, landing on my backpack. I sighed and lay on my side, looking out the window at the sun, streaming through the trees. It was hot of course. I should have been used to it but this heat was different. So dry.

I stood up and roofed through my dresser for a tank top. Even the small t-shirt I had on was too hot. I turned toward the door and swiftly changed into a dark blue tank top. As I turned around, taking the hair band out of my hair, I thought I saw someone through the window. A fast, skinny guy. Could it have been Pudge?

I quickly checked my reflection in my mirror, startled at my face. Instead of sad and angry, like I felt, there were spots of color on my cheeks, which I could blame on the heat, and a slight smile. I tried to shake it off, wondering how it had gotten there. I unconsciously combed my fingers through my hair, and shifted it over my shoulders.

I opened my door, and was surprised to see Miles standing with his hand up, about to knock. Despite myself, I smiled at him. His surprise turned to warmth, and he smiled back. He was actually really cute, now that I looked at him up close.

"Hi," I began nervously, as I held his gaze, "I'm Gemma. But I guess you already know that," I wasn't really sure how to continue, so I just rambled on, "I am really sorry. I don't really know what I was doing back in Orlando. Even though I've only been here a few days, I really feel like-" And then he cut me off, putting a finger to my lips. This was shockingly forward, and by the look in his eyes, I knew he hadn't really thought about what he was doing. He dropped his finger, and quickly covered his abashment with a smile,

"Don't worry. Just, being back here, it seems like a wholly different place to me then Florida," He said slowly.

I stood aside, and went to sit on my bed, gesturing for him to do as well. It might have seemed awkward, but he was kinda entranced, looking around at my room.

"Seeing you here, from my old school, it was just really startling. I didn't really know how to react. I saw you around school, but never really saw you. You weren't happy there, were you?" He said, holding my gaze.

His eyes were so inquisitive, it looked like he really cared what I said, and it was very unnerving, so I shifted my eyes to the window,

"No, I wasn't. I guess I didn't realize who I was until I got here," I turned my face back to him, and he was still looking at me, "What about you, were you happy in Florida?"

He smiled, looking at my books, "No, I wasn't. But I also didn't realize that until I got here. I thought I didn't really need friends. But then I met the Colonel and Alas-" He cut off, and I looked into his eyes, as he stared at the floor.

Pain. I saw pain, sadness, and guilt. It hurt to look at. Alaska again. I would have pressed for more details, but now definitely didn't seem like the time. I hurried to cover the silence, and unthinkingly placed my hand over his,

"Yeah, everyone needs friends. The thing is, some friends are the ones that will stay by you forever, no matter how far away you go," I sighed, "My friends have already forgotten about me and moved on to the next shiny object."

Pudge smiled, and squeezed my hand. I felt heat go to my face, for no apparent reason. I turned away again, when Pudge began to speak.

"Do you know what Bing Crosby's last words were?"

I turned back to him; train of thought erased, and looked into his eyes. He was serious.

"Um..no? Should I?" I said skeptically, a little worried about his sanity.

He smiled at my confusion, "Well, everyone should, but I won't put you down for it. It's kinda my thing, knowing last words."

"Well, I guess everyone has their talents. That is a little morbid, you know," I said.

He cringed again, pain again, "So I've been told," he said.

And quickly I filled the silence, "Are you going to tell me or what?" I said, teasing, trying very hard to take the pain away from his eyes.

He smiled again, and said, "They were 'it was a great game'."

I pondered this for a second, as he looked around my room.

"I guess that makes sense," I said hesitantly, "What is a game? Everyone's trying to win, sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, but everything ends out okay in the end. If you've played a good, fair game, happiness comes."

There was silence for a moment, then,

"Yeah, I completely agree with you," He said it quietly, and then suddenly his eyes lit up, and then quickly darkened.

"What?" I asked cautiously.

"You have The General and His Labyrinth," He said, eyes back on mine.

"Yeah, it's a great book. Simón Bolívar was definitely an interesting guy. Why are you smiling?" I asked, since his emotion had shifted to quickly for me to interpret them.

"Nothing," He said, still smiling, "It's one of my favorite books."

I could tell he wanted to say something else. He broke my gaze and looked at the floor, so I spoke, quoting from the book,

"How will I get out of this labyrinth?" It was a great quote, but suddenly Pudge jumped up, releasing my hand which I realized he had been holding for a while, and all but ran out the door.

I sat back, suddenly dizzy, my breath quick, throat dry. I knew this feeling. I knew it all too well. Why had he left? Rejection hit me harder than normal, and a tear fell down my cheek. My wet eyes shifted to the upside down book, on my bed. I fell into my pillow, on my stomach, and looked up at a nondescript piece of wall. And then looked at it closer. Words etched in pencil were suddenly apparent to me. I was surprised I hadn't noticed them earlier.

They said, "I will get out of this labyrinth". Alaska.

a/n Sorry for the slight cliffhanger! Review and I will update faster, promise! 3