Disclaimer: I love that John Green says that books belong to their readers, but, even so, I acknowledge and respect that Quentin and Margo belong to John Green.

There's Alice. She's pretty and she's funny and her kisses feel like ice and fire, flame and chill, but, when she finds out I'm signing emails to another girl with "love," everything falls apart like a ship blown to bits by cannons rather than worn down slowly by storms.

.

There's Maria. Her laugh is music and her intellect is dazzling. When she finds out about Margo, she starts crying. "I thought you loved me," she sobs, and, before I can tell her I do, she's gone.

.

There's Meghan. We meet at a party, and she wants to have sex to cap of the night, and I know Ben would probably be thrilled if he were in my place, but I simply can't. The next morning, when I'm done throwing up and aspirin has taken the edge off of my hangover, I use Radar's program to search for all the articles related to "sexuality" on Omnictionary, and it actually only takes 20 minutes of reading articles on the internet to realize I'm asexual. I wonder why it's taken me so long.

.

There's Elena. She's serious and kind and smart, and she's not terribly interested in sex, and she seems to take the news of Margo okay, but it's not long before she starts saying things like, "Well, I suppose Margo wouldn't mind breaking this rule, would she?" whenever I invite her along on an adventure. It takes four months for us to disintegrate, four months of slowly taking on water, or of strings breaking. (I think relationships have lifetimes too.) But in the end I cannot stop being my post-Margo's-last-night-in-Orlando self, and Elena might be perfect for pre-adventure Quentin, but I can't go back to being that boy.

.

Finally, there's Gaia. We meet in a senior poetry seminar, two passionate English majors defiantly staring down unemployment and uncertainty, and damned if we don't start the semester with Whitman. We're glancing at each other across the classroom by week two and arguing stridently about metaphors by week three, and grinning while we do so, and for once in my life I almost never look at the clock during class, but I've learned my lesson by now. Gaia, however, hasn't, and she asks me out in the end of September as we're heading out of seminar together one day.

I sigh. "Do I want to date you? Yes. But there are two things you should know about me first. Number one: I'm asexual. I enjoy kissing, but that's about it. And number two: there's a girl I love but cannot follow. I've loved her since I was nine and we're massively incompatible, but we keep in touch and probably always will, and we're not together and I've dated other people but I loved her first and there's nothing that can change that."

Gaia looks at me with what might be appreciation. "Well somebody's forthright."

I shrug. "I haven't been in the past, and I haven't liked where that's gotten me. Better to be up front."

"I admire that," she says. "I never warn people I'm asexual before we start dating. I probably should, though."

I stare at her. "You're asexual too?"

"Yeah. Careful you don't run into the door."

I stop staring at Gaia just in time to realize she's right about the door. Then I open it and wave her through. She laughs. "After you said that thing about sexism in class, I really would not have pegged you for a door-opening kind of guy."

"For the girl I just told you about, once I took a door off its hinges. Opening a door is so much easier."

Gaia walks through the door and waves at me to follow. "'Unscrew the locks from the doors!

Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs!'?"

"Exactly," I reply.

"That's tragically literal," Gaia says, and then she stops, right there on the sidewalk in front of the English building. "Look. It's okay to have a first love, as long as everyone's clear on who's together and who's not. Do you want to go out with me?"

I didn't realize how relieved I would feel until I do. I didn't realize I cared that much. "God, yes."

"Do you have anywhere to be? Because I was thinking we could get coffee and argue about metaphors."

I grin. "That sounds perfect."