I know this is weird to say, but: Xander withdrew his name from the King/Queen Court thingie at his school. He said he didn't want any part of it; he called it "nonsense" and "popularity shenigans" which is a word I think we should say more, shenanigans. But that's not the point, the point is that I bet a ton of boys would have loved to have been on Court and have everybody look at him and all of that, but not Xander. That's not what he's about, not even for a moment, and I think I fell in love with him a little bit more when he told me that, I fell a little harder and a little deeper for my Xander.

It's why it's going to break my heart to tell him that my VAD is starting to fail. It will break my broken heart to break his, too.

I've seen six shuttle launches in person, even that beautiful night launch of Discovery in December of '06, where Dad and I came down for the Thursday flight and when it was delayed, he insisted we stay until the shuttle went up: it was like watching a supernova as Discovery lit up the sky.

It never gets old, it never does. Atlantis is the only shuttle name that I'm not fond of; there's so much poetry that we reach upward into the great possibility that is space with such incredible names: we discover, we endeavor. We atlantis is not so much. But still: because of the risk of the mission, Endeavor is out on its launch pad, and I couldn't help but sneak peeks over at it. What an incredible message, that even in the face of failure and disaster, we will still endeavor into that great unknown.

I know everyone thinks this is the last shuttle launch I'll be able to see in person. They're probably right. But it's okay, because I'm here, and I'll wake up in the morning, I'm nearly sure. I endeavor, too.

Rydberg molecules are real. It feels like a miracle, to know that science has expanded past imagination and grounded itself in reality. This is a miracle, when our knowledge takes shape! When knowledge becomes tangible, because it is real: it's like the snow slowing down so that you can appreciate every single flake, touch them, let them sparkle all around you. Science is the most beautiful thing in the world because it encourages us to dream, and it says that dreams can come true. The Rydberg molecule is real.

I'm home from school today; I couldn't get out of bed this morning. It won't be the first day like it; I'm just glad it wasn't on a Yale day. But - even though I'm stuck here, Xander's coming over when the day is over, and I'll kiss him, because miracles can happen every moment: he loves me. Black holes can be binary. And the Rydberg molecule is real.

Natasha Richardson's organs were donated, and I'd be lying if I didn't say that I hope this means that tons more people want to donate after their death. Mom wondered if the family isn't saying much because they don't want to weird out the people who got the organs, or even make it so that those people figure out where their liver or kidney or heart came from and get all publicity hoggy or something. Getting a quarter million bucks to tell Star that they have Natasha's corneas or whatever, that would be really low. Or maybe the family just wants privacy, maybe it would be too hard to meet the person with her heart; in someone else's gain lives a very real loss.

Something that I was told by UNOS is part of the reason they keep donors and recipients private is because organs fail. The gift of organ donation is the gift of life, but it is a finite gift, and the death of the recipient can make the donor family feel guilt and shame and the misery of their loved one's death all over again.

Xander saw me faint for the first time, right after we slept together; Mom's talking about organizing a CPR certification class for all of my friends; Tillie says she'll defer grad school for a year, that she'll take post-grad classes at Yale for a bit. Little losses, all over, knitting together like chromosomes and taking on a life of their own.

I'm tired of this journal becoming a place where I come to sigh.

1. Have sex with Xander (more than once) (wear something naughty)
2. Fly a kite on the beach
3. Throw a party that SHSers crash
4. Go dancing
5. Learn to dance
6. Learn how to play a full Beatles song on the guitar, play it for the family
7. Walk around M.I.T
8. Jump on the bed
9. Take the dog on a run
10. Go with Mom to Central Park, Dad to Boston Public Gardens
11. Dance at Mike's wedding
12. Write all of the instructions for the transparent monitor for Xander to create for next year's STS; label parts, make sure he gets a key to the invention studio, make sure my sponsors at Yale transfer to him
13. Swim in the Sound
14. Make eclairs with Tillie
15. Go to a physics lecture at Harvard
16. Walk downtown Stoneybrook, stop in every store
17. Write everyone a letter, by hand (Mom, Dad, Mike, Lenore, Mark, Tillie, whomever marries Tillie and Mark, Xander, Shannon, Greer, Anna) to be given after
18. Write a will (do I need a lawyer? Ask Anna's stepdad)
19. Go to NASA, see the shuttle launch

I have my solar panels all packed for my discussion; Dad was worried that we'd have to drive, just in case, but we got them safely ensconced in some packing peanuts, the train is still a go. Mom's so worried that I'll keel over, and I hear her sniping at Dad about making sure that I don't overexert myself. She doesn't understand: I live for this. Without the STS...I have to go, I have to have this weekend.

It's probably the last one I'll ever have. So I want it, and it's mine.

I don't have much time left, I don't think. I'm getting to be so tired and over the silliest things. I'm hoping that I at least still get the summer: I love the beach, and I want to go with Anna to her Hamptons house, and...I want this summer to be with Alexander and work on his thermostat project and swing in the hammock and read Sagan to each other and talk about Hawkings' new position on black holes. But I don't know if I'll get the beaches or hammocks with Xander. If I don't do what I want now, it'll never be done. And I can't make it be July, and I can't make myself be a senior at STS...but I can make some things I've wanted to do happen.

So...I hope I lose my virginity in DC. I've always wanted it to be with a boy that I loved, and I love him, and it's time. Because there might not be any more time.

I just hope he says yes.

It's not that Xander touched me. Though...second base is awesome.

It's that he didn't even see my boobs at first: he saw exactly what I wanted him to, but...then he didn't see it like I do. He didn't gape, he didn't gasp, he didn't get worried or hesitant: he just kissed that scar like it was my lips, and it was like being five years old again, when I didn't ever ever think about my heart as something that could fail or fall. It was this infalliable thing that was going to let me fly higher than any star, my heart was that powerful and that perfect when I was five.

And he kissed me and brought me back there.

And this is why I love him. No, just...one of the reasons why. Reading Shakespeare, doing math by the fire...his smile...his hands...the way he speaks with such preciseness, like he has verbal rulers for his sentences...so many reasons to list, one for every beat of a heart.

I am going to tell Alexander. I'll tell him tomorrow, over lunch. Tillie and I prepared a big binder full of information that I can give to him; I thought maybe he'd like to read it. It has copies of my medical files...he wants to be a doctor...and if he wants to talk to his dad and find out how sick I was and might be, he can do that.

I'm trying to prepare myself for him breaking up with me - not even because of the transplant, but because I kept it from him for so long. I take the pills in front of him, but I never say what they're for, I let him believe I know so much about cardiothorasic medicine because I just know. I've kept this from him, after being so bold about everything else, and -

I don't want to fill this journal with stuff that will just make me depressed later. I'm just going to say, I'm telling him tomorrow, and I'm hoping for the best...because he's the best.

I kissed him! Then he kissed me back! And I told him that I liked him! And he didn't tell me I was crazy!

I don't know what happens next - I hope we go out? I hope we kiss again. I hope I get to say that it's 2009 and Alexander Kurtzman is my boyfriend.

And that I've finished refining the touch mechanism on my monitor. That and Alexander.

Oh! I got a 2400 on my SATs. Mom and Dad are happy, so that's good.

The idea to create a solar powered transparent monitor out of a house window is going slowly but well, I would hazard. I'm actually pretty stoked by it: I need to get the monitor up and running before I can move to the window, considering how I have to transfer and modify that to combine with the solar cells, but...it's going well. I thought at first that I would enter the transparent monitor for the Intel Talent Search next year, but I think, given the amount of time this might take plus the fact that it's just so awesome, maybe I'll enter the window monitor. Oh! Oh! No! What I have to do is take it to the next level, connecting the window wirelessly to a computer base or a television? What if you could have solar power fuel your TV! But how would you deal with the glare...I really like the idea of using the windows as part of a larger home system, where you could adjust temperature or...maybe the utilitarian principles are...I mean, if you could...like if you were in the kitchen, and you were washing dishes, you could tap the window to make the TV appear there? And turn down the house temp, and find out the weather from your computer, and...buy movie tickets? Wouldn't that just be too cool for the whole world, ever?

I need to talk to Gabe at Yale. Run things out. Maybe Alexander would want to assist?

Sigh. How come I can have so much fun planning all of this out, and all I can think about is...how he hasn't -

Does he think about me? Because if he isn't, why can't I stop thinking about him?

This is so unfair. And so unscientific. I think I'm going to watch Good Will Hunting and pretend Will and I are best friends at MIT again and solving math problems and then fall in love because he loves the way I modulate String Theory.

Sigh.

Ha! It took me a week, but...got it.



But if I get this up and running soon...then I'll have to do something else completely for the Intel Talent Search next spring. Rats.




I wonder what Alexander's doing right now...maybe I should take Greer's advice?

My friends were so cool about my birthday, but my family was a little subdued, like always, like we have been for the past decade. My birthday isn't the important day anymore, not November 2nd. It's really February 7th, when I got my heart.

I'm not ignorant, though, I know why my birthday this year was quieter than usual. The day I turned seventeen isn't a day that Mom or Dad or my brothers or Tillie are gonna celebrate. We've now got three months, as of today, until my heart turns ten years old. And most hearts give out about ten years after transplant. I know they're scared; Mom practically held her breath all last week while I was sick, and Dad held my hand so hard during my cardiologist's appointment today, I thought it was going to fall off. They know, and I know.

Sometimes I pretend I'm spacier than I am. Not about the mismatched socks I had on today, I only wish I had an excuse for that. I know the stereotype - someone so smart about the things I'm smart at...but can't understand the little things. I think my parents draw comfort from the idea that I'm so busy working on whatever project or assignment that's on my docket that I'm oblivious to...that I'm just oblivious. But I know that I'm living on borrowed time. I know that the next time I get a cold, I won't be so lucky. I know all of these things.

But still - it didn't stop me from blowing out the candles on my birthday cake and wishing to turn eighteen. Don't tell me that's impractical...come on, Einstein was the greatest dreamer of all, wasn't he? Why can't I dream, too?

I hate this feeling, right as a cold is coming in. This waiting game to see if it'll pass or if it's gonna mow me down. I don't know.

And then being trapped in bed, not allowed into my "drafty, cold" (says Mom, who has never heard of sweaters) workroom. I have stuff I'm working on!

I guess I'll work on my French homework. Or my Westinghouse grant. I guess. I don't know. There's no use complaining: I'm gonna be sick no matter what happens. All I can do is cross my fingers...and wait.

Shannon, come back...please be okay. Please. I don't know what I'd do without you.