What is love? It comes in lots of forms—friendship, romantic love, parental love, brotherly and sisterly love, childlike love, love for animals... so many types. But none of those explain why it happens. Why does love happen? Why does it hurt so much? Why does it pick you up and toss you up high—only to fall all the farther? Why does it come to me? Why didn't I just tell my parents that I loved them before they left that night? Why didn't I call Nolan and tell him I loved him? Why did I have so many questions that couldn't be answered?

. . .

They never came.

Nolan's friends—my "friends"—never came to the funeral.

It was dark and humid, a day befitting the grief that pressed in around us. Our sorrow was almost tangible, squeezing our hearts in a giant fist that left no room for air or beats. I felt as though the very atmosphere was ripping the life from me.

I wore a black dress, with simple black loafers and no makeup. I didn't deserve to be pretty right then.

Willa and Z were dressed in similar attire, and Nonna was as well, although she bore a large, lacy handkerchief along with her.

It was strange, going to my parents' and my brother's funeral. It was like out of a sad movie or story, where the main character's whole family dies and she has to live on her own or something.

But my whole family didn't die. I still had Willa and Z to take care of. I had to be there for them. I had to be strong for them.

Z leaned against me the whole service, and I wrapped my arms around him and Willa near the end. Willa didn't show how sad she was the same way Z did, or Nonna did. Z was silent and quiet, like normal, except that he was sadder and less serene than before. Nonna was a loud griever, always crying into a tissue or talking to herself sadly in Italian, clucking her tongue and crying some more. Willa, however, swore quite oftenly now, because none of us had the energy to tell her to watch her mouth. She was angry all the time, now, and puffed out her bottom lip in defiance whenever I asked her to do something for me. This had to have been so hard on my sister, and I knew she felt like she couldn't open up to anyone. She barely trusted me, as it was, and practically hated Nonna now, for some reason. I wished I could take some of her pain away, but I already had so much to deal with.

The pastor of the service told everyone there to come up and greet us.

Over a hundred people I'd barely ever met—or never met—walked up to us, giving us hugs and offering their condolences. Telling us worthless nothings. Assuring us that it would eventually get easier. Lying.

At this point, I'd wanted to go home and hide in my room for a very long time now, and never come back out. Funerals were so exhausting.

But... it was Nolan. And Mom. And Dad—lying in those caskets, their eyes glassy and unseeing behind their thin, papery eyelids.

Mom looked beautiful as always, her auburn hair bright and vibrant. She looked as though she'd just laid down in the casket to take a nap, and was just sleeping.

Dad looked the same way, with a pretty flower tucked into his buttonhole. Like he was sleeping.

Only Nolan looked really dead.

His dark auburn hair was thin and dull, and his skin was very waxy and pale. His reddish eyelashes stood out against his cheeks, looking dark and unreal. Even his freckles were mostly gone, which freaked me out the most.

Every time I looked at even one of them, I started to cry again.

I decided not to look at the caskets.

So I just stood there, wondering how this had all happened to me, when just a few months ago I had a whole family and a whole heart and a whole soul. What was there to live for anymore? I certainly didn't know.

. . .

"Hello?" Someone waved in my face.

I was standing at the food table at the reception, waiting for some food. I looked up to see who had waved.

A young man was the one waving in my face. He had dyed silver hair and almond shaped greenish brown eyes and a crooked smile. "You're Nikki?"

I blinked at him. "Um. Yes. Hello."

The young man grinned more widely. "Hello again. My name is Jesse."

I smiled blandly. "Hello, Jesse."

"You sure do say hello a lot," he remarked. "Say, you're kind of sad looking."

I wasn't sure that this was an insult; I merely thought that the young man was too dull to know that it was insulting. "Well, this is a funeral for my parents and brother."

"Ah, come on. You didn't need your old people." Jesse smiled, his eyes sparkling.

I stared, shocked. I stammered for an answer. "Uh—I—I—"

"Silly Nikki. I'm joking." Jesse winked at me.

"Uh, who are you again?" I asked, feeling a little standoffish.

"Jesse," he answered. "Forget already? Well, you're certainly more pretty than you are smart." He twisted a piece of his hair around a fingertip.

"Uh. Yeah, but who are you? Like... are you a relative or something?" I asked.

"Eh, nah, my uncle owns this place. He and your parents were friends. I live here with him."

"Oh," I said, wondering why he lived only with his uncle. "Did something happen to your parents, too?" It sounded strange to say that, 'too'. It sounded final.

Jesse rolled his eyes good naturedly. "Worrying about me now, hm, Nikki? They kicked it a couple of years ago. Big news incident. They were on this big ship that went down in the Pacific. Ever heard of it?"

I shook my head. "Sorry."

"Aw, hell, this is your parents' funeral," Jesse said. "Don't worry."

"And my brother's," I added.

He nodded. "Right."

"Did you know him?" I asked. "Nolan, my brother, I mean."

"Mm, don't think so. Knew him at school, sure. But, uh, he was always kinda stuck up there, if you catch me."

"I don't," I said stiffly.

"Oh, c'mon, don't be that way," Jesse pleaded. "I didn't mean it—I just didn't know him."

I pitied him and said, "Alright. Just... don't say crap about him if he can't defend himself."

Jesse grinned again. "Thanks, angel."

Angel. I liked that.

He spoke again— "Say, you ever wanna go into town with me? You like bowling?"

I stared at him. "Not—not really." Jesse looked disappointed, so I added, "I do like movies, though."

"Perfect! I'll pick you up on Tuesday."

"I have things to do on Tuesday." Like staring at the wall and trying to draw stupid Luna Moths.

"Oh! The girl's trying to get rid of me already! Well, whenever you want, then. Say the word, Angel. I'm your servant."

I flushed and suppressed a giggle at his silliness. "Uh, how about — I'll ask Nonna. Can I—have your number?" Did I just ask that? I felt like swearing like Willa, but in a good way.

"You're sly, you know that, Nikki? You're sly! But sure, Angel. Let me see your phone."

I handed it to him and took his phone and we exchanged information. Did I just give my phone number to a boy?

"Sweet. See you on Tuesday, then, Angel," Jesse said, winking.

"Hey—no, I gotta ask my nonna! Don't come unless I tell you to!"

"Uh-huh, sure, Angel. See you then!" Jesse grinned at me and walked off.

Huh.

. . .

"Nikki? There is a boy at the door, calling for you! I didn't hear about this!" Nonna hollered.

Embarrassed, I ran down the stairs. I was wearing nice clothes, at least—a nice pair of jeans and a blue sweater. "I'd forgotten about it," I admitted to Nonna as I walked into the kitchen.

Nonna stood by the door. "Make sure to ask him to dinner afterwards, alright, girl? I'm making fettuccine alfredo and manicotti."

I grinned. "Okay!"

Nonna smiled back at me, and gave me a side hug. "It makes me happy to see you happy. It means I'm not failing as your caretaker."

I wasn't sure what to say to that, so I just hugged her back and opened the door.

Jesse stood there. "Hello, Nikki! Whoa, you're looking pretty today. Oh, and who's this beautiful lady? Are you the legendary Nonna?"

Nonna blushed and rolled her dark eyes. "You'll stay for dinner," she ordered. "I'm making Nikki's favorites."

"Ah! Nikki's favorite is good enough for me!" Jesse grinned at me and winked at a blushing Nonna. "Let's go, Angel," he told me, and took my hand.

It felt very nice to have my hand held like that. I felt happy to be there with him.

Jesse led me to his car. It was a nice one, I wasn't sure of the brand, but clean and shiny.

He opened the door for me, which was nice, and I got in. "How old are you, Jesse?"

He chuckled. "Don't worry, Nikki. I got a license."

"No, but really—I'd like to know." I wanted to know because, well, I was only fourteen, and even though I was almost fifteen, I still didn't want to be going to the movies as a minor with an eighteen year old or over.

"Seventeen," Jesse replied. "Too old for you?" His tone was light, teasing.

I tucked my good leg up under me on the car seat and stretched out my cast. I was going to get it off soon. "No, just right," I said smiling. I didn't know what I'd said that for—it'd just come out.

"Sweet Angel." Jesse grinned and whipped the car out into the street. He wasn't wearing a seatbelt, but I still buckled mine on quickly.

He looked over. "Scared?" he asked teasingly.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm wondering that if you slam on the breaks suddenly—how fast is your head going to go through the windshield? You should put on a seatbelt."

Jesse winked at me. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Eyes on the road," I reminded him. "I don't want to die."

That last sentence made me hurt all over again. Mom. Dad. Nolan. Would I ever get over this?

Oblivious to my hurt, Jesse turned on the radio and started to sing along. I sang too, a bit, to try to keep my mind off of reality.

Finally, we arrived at the theater.

We watched a new movie—the newest one in a series that Jesse liked. Something about explosions and hot people and guns and things. It was alright. I'd have preferred a new remake of Jane Eyre that was showing, but I didn't want to be a bother, and Jesse really seemed to enjoy the explosions movie. Even I enjoyed it a little.

Afterwards, Jesse drove me home. We sat in the car in my driveway, talking about the movie.

"Remember the part with the old man and the villain? Where the villain said, 'Hey, Gramps!' And then the old guy turned into the good guy and snapped his neck!" Jesse started laughing. He was sort of cute when he laughed.

I laughed too. I didn't remember what the part in the movie was—I didn't hardly pay attention. "Yeah," I said. Jesse's laughter was contagious, and his nose and eyes wrinkled when he smiled.

"Hey, are you coming to dinner?" I asked. "Nonna really seems to like you."

Jesse grinned. "Sure, Angel. She's my favorite old lady, too. Plus, I never say no to good grub."

I laughed again, and we went up to the door.

Nonna met us there and let us in. A swarm of good smells met us and swirled around in the air.

"Nikki! Did you have fun?" Nonna asked. She was smiling.

Jesse let go of my hand and waved at Nonna. "Ah, my favorite lady! Have you cooked?"

Nonna beamed. "Come in! Dinner is on the table."

We followed her into the kitchen. I saw Willa sitting at the table next to Z. Willa looked exceptionally sulky today. I kind of felt bad for her. I was so happy right now... did I deserve it?

Before I could think on that more, I was pushed at the table by Nonna. Large plates of Italian food were placed in front of us, and we all dug in.

I glanced around the table at Z and Willa and Nonna. Z was picking at his food. He'd never had much of an appetite his whole life, but he looked sort of underfed now. He might've been having a growth spurt, though, and just needed to catch up on eating.

Willa looked sullen-faced. She, too, was picking at her food, but I knew she didn't like manicotti.

Nonna was beaming as Jesse showered compliments on her. Her dark eyes were smiling and I noticed she had smile lines by her eyes. She looked nice, like a real grandmother, right then. She looked happy and kind.

. . .

That evening, Jesse and I walked out to his car to say goodnight.

"Going to forget all about me now?" Jesse asked as he walked towards his car.

"Why would I do that?" I asked curiously.

"I dunno," Jesse replied. "Sure you've got some friends, right?"

I rolled my eyes. "Come on, Jesse. I want to have fun. Don't mess this up, please."

Jesse reconsidered. "Sorry, Angel. I didn't want to make you mad." He crossed over and gave me a hug. "'Night, Nikki."

"Goodnight."

. . .