"Alex was like that. Brash. Bright. Confident. Something was always cracking him up, making him angry, or stabbing him in the chest with grief. I was more measured, more internal, stuck inside my books. He brought me into the world and, in ways my mother never could, though she tried her damnedest, he brought the world to me. Alex was my friend. My brother. My comrade. My teacher. One day he was laughing on a bright summer sidewalk. What seemed liked...