Soon, the news of Lou and Victoria's romance had spread through the town. In a place so small, no one really had any secrets – or if they did, they were some of the best-kept secrets in the world.
I asked Lou about it the following Saturday afternoon, when Amelia and I were having coffee in his store. "Lou!" I called.
He came over from behind the counter. "More coffee?" he asked.
"Nope, just questions," I replied. "How long has this little romance been going on, then?"
Lou grinned, a bit bashful, and sat down at our table. "About a month," he answered.



Amelia nearly choked on her cappuccino. "A month!" she cried, spluttering everywhere. "How come we never knew about it?"
"Well, since I've been working and Victoria's been sleeping during the daytime," Lou explained, "we could only meet up at night time. So we made sure we kept it as secret as possible, for as long as possible." He glanced at Amelia. "Do you need a serviette?"
"Huh?" she said, then looked down at her front. "Oh, crap," she muttered, noticing the droplets of coffee now decorating her T shirt, as a result of all the spluttering.
"Here," Lou offered, handing her a clean tissue from his pocket. Amelia started dabbing at the spillage.
"What did Edward and Sophie say?" I asked. I wasn't sure how they'd react to their daughter going out with an alien.
He shrugged. "They were fine with it," he said. He grinned mischievously. "And we were definitely fine with it."
"Well, that's a relief," I said.
"Hey, Ellie, is it all gone?" Amelia asked, still peering down at her front.
"Amelia, your T shirt is black," I said. "Even if it wasn't all gone, you wouldn't be able to notice, seriously."
She looked uncertain, and gave it another dab.
I rolled my eyes, and turned back to Lou, suddenly remembering something. "Hey, can you get some books in for me?"
"Sure," Lou said, holding out his hand for the list which he knew was coming. I fished around in my pocket and handed it to him.
He tut-tutted under his breath as he read. "More rubbish, Ellie?" he asked.
"Hey, don't knock it," I said. I knew he was only kidding. In all likelihood, he probably read most of the books before he sold them – mine included.
"Give it a week or two, and they'll be here," he replied, pocketing my list and getting up from the table. "Have a good day."
"You too, Lou," Amelia said, smiling at the rhyme.
She came back to my place afterwards, where we hung out in my room, chatting about everything and nothing. Sometimes we ran out of things to talk about, though. It often happened, since we spent so much of each day together. Whenever this occurred, we turned to the online world of MySpace.
I fired up my computer and brought up the login page. Amelia leaned over my shoulder, looking at the screen.
"What's your password?" she asked innocently.
"Wouldn't you like to know," I murmured, quickly typing it in and pressing 'Enter'. Soon, the familiar blue and white boxes filled the screen, with the words 'Hello, Ellie!' written above my own photo.



I scrolled quickly down, checking for any comments or messages. I could understand the appeal of MySpace (or Facebook, I guess), and how easy it was for people to become addicted. There was something deeply comforting and exciting about getting 'New Comments!' or 'New Messages!' – it affirmed your existence, and proved people wanted to communicate with you. It made you feel wanted.
"Message," Amelia intoned, stating the obvious. "And—ooh—friend request." She thought for a moment. "Probably some random band or porn star, you've already added everyone in town."
"Probably," I replied, clicking on the 'Message' icon. Anastasia wanted some more help with her biology prac.
"She's got some nerve," I grumbled. I still hadn't fully forgiven them for the store room prank.
"Don't reply," Amelia suggested. "There is nothing more annoying and insulting than not replying to a MySpace message."
"You know what?" I said, clicking 'Back'. "I don't think I will."
Instead, I clicked the 'Friend Request' icon, preparing to deny the band or 'sexy web cam girl' who dared to randomly add me in a desperate attempt to gain popularity.
I was very surprised by what I saw – and so was Amelia. It wasn't a band, a porn star, or even a totally random person who'd found me by mistake.
"Hannah got a MySpace?" I exclaimed in wonder. She'd been the only one of the youth of Solitaria to not have one, so we were both amazed.
"Wow," Amelia said as I clicked 'Accept'. "That's a big step."
"So there is something in there," I mused, then went to her profile.
She didn't have a flashy layout yet, or any photos, or even lists of favourite bands and descriptions about who she'd like to meet. There were only the bare bones of a MySpace, but I did notice one blog entry titled 'I wish'.
"Click on it," Amelia urged.
The blog entry came up on the screen – and it stunned both of us.

I wish…
Current Mood: Frustrated
Category: Life

There are so many things I wish for that no one even knows about. Because nobody thinks a fat, smelly, retarded, spastic zombie could have wishes at all. Everyone thinks I'm useless or worthless or just stupid.
But I'm not.
I wish people could know that I'm still normal. I'm still Hannah Reilly as she was before she was hit by the car. I'm still an ordinary fourteen-year-old girl who doesn't like school but loves hanging out with friends. I have crushes and dreams, I like music and TV, I have good days and bad days. (Although these days most days are bad days). My mind is perfectly lucid and in full working order. It's just that it's trapped in this broken body. Like I want to speak, and the words are perfectly formed in my head, but by the time they reach my mouth, only grunts and moans come out. I want to move, and my brain sends an order, but my body doesn't obey. I wish I could appear as normal as I really am, stuck inside my head.
I wish I could go back to how things were. I used to be fairly average: not pretty, but not ugly. Not stick-thin, but not fat. I had flaws and stuff, just like any other person, but I think most of the time the good outweighed the bad.
But then I didn't look as I stepped onto the road. And I paid the ultimate price.
I can say that I did get a glimpse of the afterlife. Or, rather, the afterlife that I had unwittingly chosen without fully realising it. It was terrifying: there was nothing there. Just darkness, and total isolation, and nothingness. Nothing but my thoughts on a continuous loop.
But I'll save that for another blog. My life-death-life isn't the point.
The point is, I wish people could know that I want so badly to reach out and talk to them. I want to tell my mum and dad that I still love them, despite what they did, bringing me back in this way. I want to have friends. I want people to know that I'm still here!
I wish I could tell them everything.

I turned to Amelia, in shock. She was still reading, but only a fraction slower than me. I saw her mouth the final line.
She just stood there, silent, for a moment. "Oh my God," she finally said.
I exhaled. "Yeah."



"That probably took her ages to type," Amelia said, shocked. I had a terrible mental image of poor Hannah, sitting slumped awkwardly in a computer chair, painstakingly tapping out her message. She must have been so desperate.
"I had no idea," I said slowly, shaking my head. "No idea."
"Me neither," Amelia agreed.
There was another moment of silence, while we both just stared at the screen, reading Hannah's desperate message to the world.
"What are we going to do about it?" Amelia said suddenly.
"Send a message?" I suggested.
"At least," Amelia agreed. "Tell her it's from both of us."
We replied – saying how we were sorry, how we never knew what she'd been through, how we'd be there for her if she needed us. Amelia volunteered to go over to her house if she ever wanted company, saying that Hannah 'only had to call, and she'd be there'.
Then I logged off, Amelia went home, and I eventually went to bed at the end of the day.