Lacey Hoffman

“Viola takes the menu and looks at it, then looks at the Senate bill pasted to the wall beside the window. “Interesting décor.” I look at it too. It’s newer, though I did see it the last time I was in. It has to do with banning silencers and certain kinds of ammunition. “That’s right, you’ve never been here.” I look around. “This is how it’s decorated. Has been ever since. The first bill they introduced after it happened got voted down, and Kathy hung it up by the register to remind everyone. Then there were others, and she hung those up too. Everything having to do with anything about guns: background checks, automatic weapons, ammo, concealed carry, anything at all.” “She hangs up bills having to do with gun control?” “Just the ones that get voted down.” “What about the ones that pass?” “I don’t think there are any of those.”
― Joseph Moldover, Every Moment After: A Young Adult Coming-of-Age Story of School Shooting Survivors and Friendship

“People start to forget about you after you die and they can’t see you all the time anymore. It was already happening with Andy. I started to notice that at his funeral that was on the day after the wake. Everyone was talking about Andy, but they talked about him like they only remembered some parts of him, not all the parts. “Oh, Andy was just such a darling, such a pleasure to have in class.” “He was hilarious, wasn’t he? What a character!” “He was so bright, incredibly smart.” It was like they weren’t really talking about Andy or they were starting to forget about what he was like.”
― Rhiannon Navin, Only Child

“I’m…I’m sorry, I’ll keep this short. There is now a big gaping hole in our lives where a week ago there was our smart, funny, outgoing boy with his big personality. Andy always made us laugh and he made us…so proud, every day. He was an amazing son and loving brother, the best we could have ever asked for. I can’t even begin to wrap my mind around how to keep on living like this, without him, with that huge hole in our lives where my son is supposed to be. He was taken from us,…and I don’t know how anything will ever make sense again without him.” Daddy looked down at the piece of paper like he was trying to find the spot where he stopped reading earlier. I could see his chin was shaking. He kept looking at the paper and said: “I want to ask all of you to please keep Andy and the memories you have of him close and carry him with you always.” Mommy started shaking next to me. She let go of my arm and crossed her arms in front of her belly and leaned forward, so her head almost touched her legs, and her shoulders went up and down from crying. All around us people cried, and the sadness was like a big heavy blanket all around us and on top of us. I thought about Daddy’s speech, and I watched Mommy and everyone else cry, and it all didn’t feel like real life. Because Daddy did it, too: he didn’t talk about Andy like how he actually was. And so it was like everyone was crying and being sad, but not about the actual Andy, just a version of him that wasn’t the right one. It was like no one was saying good-bye properly to him. I felt like I wanted to stand up and yell at everyone to stop lying about my brother.”
― Rhiannon Navin, Only Child

“Agate finishes piling up books and starts in on her cheese slices. “Are you ready? I want to tell you about pulsars.” “Should I even try to say no, here?” “SETI is really important, Simon. It’s proof that we’re not alone.” I catch myself thinking about being alone. I don’t want to make waves in my new town, and faking a message from space seems kind of…wavy. But Agate is looking at me with galaxy-blue eyes and her tongue pushing on her teeth like words are going to burst out of her, and to be honest, saying no to that seems like the more immediate threat. Not that she’d be angry—I mean S, maybe—but she’d be sad and she’d leave, and I kind of don’t want her to leave. “Okay, fine,” I say. “Tell me about pulsars.”
― Erin Bow, Simon Sort of Says: