I have now determined how this story ends. I've established more for this story than I have for any other story I've ever written, even the ones I haven't posted. I think if you guys stick with this until the end with me, you'll fall in love with it as much as I have. Oh, and P.S. It won't always be in Joe's point of view! Wink, wink. (:

Dear Jonah,

I think I have discovered why it is called a lie. Each time you tell a lie is like a weight added to your shoulders. It's not very heavy at first, but the more you lie, the bigger the weight gets, and the heavier it lies atop your shoulders. Then, just when you think you're done with lying, it becomes too late. Your own creations have become a monstrosity, and are too large to control now. They grow and grow, until they weigh as much as the world and you can no longer support yourself, so you fall to the ground, finally buried. That's why they call it a lie. Because when you're finally through with it, the only place left for you is lying.

(Joe)

"Jamie, wait." A sudden wave of unnecessarily complex remorse washed over me as she turned sharply on her heel, facing me again across the parking lot. "Why? So you can tell me how wrong I am like you always do? I'm done with that, Joe! Do you hear me? Done!"

I always wondered whether she was yelling so her voice would reach my ears in the long distance between us, or because what she had to say was so emotionally dramatic that the only thing she could manage was a shout.

. . .

"Come on, Jamie. You've been ignoring me all day. I need to talk to you. I am really sorry." I continued to follow at her heels like a lost puppy as she stormed away from me. Swarms and seas of students surrounded us, eager to get home to the people that loved them most. Or maybe away from the people that paid them such hatred. Like me.

Surprise lingered on my face—my eyes, my lips, my tingling skin—as she stopped abruptly in front of me, facing me suddenly and piercingly. Jamie looked at me then with so much unsaid that I expected the moment to crystalize, fall to the floor like a marble. But then she opened her mouth, lifting the spell.

"Why are you sorry, Joe? Sorry because that kid is your personal punching bag? Sorry that you won't change—that you keep making the same mistakes? Sorry because you keep pushing me away? Or are you 'sorry' because you had nothing better to say?" It was then that I wondered if not telling someone the whole truth was the same as telling a lie. If she knew who I was hiding beneath my skin, would she still put this in the same perspective? If I knew who I was hiding, where would I be right now? Would I have still felt the same, or had the same opinions? I remained silent, unable to form the reply that seemed right. Unable, or maybe unwilling. I couldn't find a single word that wouldn't feel like glass in my mouth. But no answer was always still an answer. "That's what I thought. I'll see you later, Joe."

My heart sank as I called, "So are we still 'taking a break'?"

I could not decide which made the pain in my heart swell more dramatically—her silent reply, or that I had to ask. Agony almost made the nauseous thought of home disappear.

Since the thought of riding the bus, or going home in general, already made me throw up a little in my mouth, I took the long way home, making a brief stop.

. . .

It was hard to think about what I might have done, and where I might have been, had I not lived in southern California. Maybe I'd be bald from pulling out my hair. Or better, maybe dead.

Had we not moved to southern California so long ago, I would have never discovered the ocean, and I would have never even dreamed of what it was like to ride with the waves. It wasn't long after I learned to stand on my board that I realized that surfing wasn't just a hobby, but a beautiful, sort of majestic art. It was amazing, the way you could carve your board into the water and paint your thoughts into a wave. Or the way the wind sculpted your hair into something new every day. Or how the crashing waves sounded like a symphony in your ears. Maybe the best part, though, was how the concentration took away everything else, and left you with nothing but the person you were meant to be—alive and free.

This ends Chapter 3.

I know you guys really want Your Love is my Life, and I'll Be, but I can't focus on that right now. I promise it'll come back. I PROMISE.

Please review? Even though I love writing this story, it would help me immensely if you said something, anything in the review. You have no idea how hard I've worked on this. Plus, it won't be long before the plot gets super interesting. :)

With Love, Carlie :D