Shawn can’t stop thinking about whether his dad is going to kill him. Paul travels for a basketball tournament, and his mom and Cindy are to join him tomorrow: “I try not to think about dying, but it keeps coming back into my mind…I don’t want to feel sorry for myself. Negativity and self-pity are useless” (93). Shawn’s memories run through his mind: Christmas when he was six and his siblings opened presents before they were supposed to, and then re-wrapped them; going to the Pacific Science Center, where his dad convinced an employee to let Shawn go on the virtual reality exploration of the universe strapped to Sydney’s chest, even though the employee said it was against the rules; all the music he’s ever heard; all the artwork he’s ever seen; all people he’s ever met, and the way they smelled and the noises they’ve made: “My life moves across the back of my eyes, across the middle of my ears, and everything I’ve ever dreamed, seen, smelled, heard, desired, loved, hated, been scared of, wished I could touch—I remember all of it” (96).

Shawn thinks of how memory is all that is left when you die and worries that the memory of him will not be accurate, wondering if anyone will truly know him: “I’m just not ready to give up the hope that someday I might be known.