From What I Remember by Stacy Kramer Page A

about understanding that no one cares, but once you accept that, you can actually move on and be happy.”
    “That’s depressing.”
    “Right back at you.”
    Girl’s got a point. We both like bleak shit. Who’d have thought I’d have anything in common with Kylie Flores?
    “And then I loved this book Disgrace , by a South African author named Coetzee. I read it last year. I think it’s the most perfect book ever written. Every single word in that book should be there. It’s so honest. And real. It’s about racial oppression, which I don’t think we ever escape.”
    I can’t believe we’re still talking about books. I’ve never talked about books with anyone outside of class. It’s weird. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say next. I don’t really have the time or the interest to get into a whole long thing about literature. I’ve got places to go. People to see.
    “Anything else you need from me?” I ask. I’m feeling kind of bad, but what am I going to do, offer to write it myself? Miss out on the last day of school? No thanks.
    “I think I have enough,” Kylie says.
    I stand up again. “Okay, then, I guess we’re good to go.” I’m about to head out when I realize that Kylie is looking around in a panic. Oh no. Now what?
    “What’s up?” I ask her.
    “My backpack’s gone.…” Kylie jumps out of her seat and races toward the exit, nearly knocking down two old women in the process.
    I rush after her because…well, I’m not really sure why. I feel like I should, somehow.
    Kylie bolts out the door and runs down the street. I’m right behind her.
    “Where are you going?”
    “That guy stole my backpack.” Kylie points to a small figure in a black leather jacket racing down the sidewalk a few feet in front of us.
    “Don’t follow him,” I pant as I try to keep pace with Kylie. “He’s a criminal. Why don’t we call the cops?”
    “No time. I need my computer.…It has my life in it.” And with that, Kylie sprints around the corner, chasing some thug who most likely has a gun. I stop and watch her go. While death may be part of life, it has no part in mine at the moment.

’m running for my life. Because that’s what’s in the computer. My screenplay, my valedictorian speech, my journal—my life. And nothing’s backed up. What can I say? I know there’s no excuse, and yet…I didn’t do it. This would be funny if it weren’t so tragic, which is kind of the story of my life. I look back and realize Max must have given up. Not like I expected his help or anything. The thief is wiry and fast. He looks younger than me. What is he doing stealing backpacks from Starbucks? He should be in school. I push with everything I’ve got. I’m gaining on him. Just a few more feet and I’ll be able to grab it. I’m closing in. I reach out for my backpack, which swings around on his arm like a monkey. I miss. I try again. This time, my hand latches on to the strap. But he tugs and the backpack slips from my grip. I stretch forward as far as I can, trying to catch the strap in my fingers, but I lose my balance and crash to the sidewalk. I’m going at such a fast clip, I roll over a few times before coming to a stop on the pavement, my jeans, wrist, and elbow etched with cuts and scrapes.
    I watch helplessly as he jumps onto a dirt bike parked at the curb, and peels out. He must be one of those street kids who hangs around the beach and spins on his bike all day long. San Diego is crawling with them. I’ve never given them much thought. Now I understand how they afford their designer sweatshirts and tricked-out bikes. I fall back onto the sidewalk, defeated. I am so royally screwed.
    “Hey, get in,” a voice calls out.
    I lift my head to see a car pulling up to the curb. Max stares at me from inside a sparkling new Beemer.
    I don’t respond at first. I’m too stunned that Max is actually here.
    “C’mon, Kylie. I’ll take you to school.”
    “I’m not going to school. I’ve