Her hair is back in a bun. Her sweater's navy blue. She's still there.

"You came."

She tries to smile, then pulls her feet up on to the chair, bringing her knees to her chest. Like she's hiding from what's happened to me.

I go to sit up, but the pain shoots up my spine and I drop back on to my pillow.

"Careful!" She stands up. I watch her eyes take me in.

"Look at you," she says.

And there's something in her face that I haven't seen. She's trying not to cry.

I hold out my hand. "I'm sorry."

She takes a hesitant step toward me, then shakes her head. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

My hand is still out. Please take my hand. Please take my hand.

She looks down, "You're not supposed to die."

"I'm alive," I say, smiling up at her, "And you're here."

Then she's leaning down, coming to me, her hand brushing mine as it moves to my face. Her touch on my skin closes my eyes and she kisses me. Her lips soft and slow, a flutter in her breath and I can feel her tears on my cheek.

Stay with me, Leia. Let me show you more.

She stands up and wipes her eyes with her sleeve. "How dramatic is this?"

And we both smile, as sunlight fights through the blinds.

"I sent you a message," I say, holding up my phone.

Leia's eyes widen, then she moves back to the chair, reaches down into her bag and pulls out the envelope.

"You really did."

She sits down and I feel every single muscle in me wake up.

She slides out the script. "You've been busy, Skywalker."

"You're really here," I say, and now I'm welling up. But I don't care.

This is real.

Her fingers stroke the title of my story.

I watch her read the words, "It's About Love."

Hearing her say it out loud feels like she's inside my head. Like she knows what I mean.

"You were right," I say. "Underneath everything else. The ugly. And the stupid. Under the bad choices ... That's what it's about. All of it. Even the people who mess everything up. They're blunt and coarse and stupid and wrong, but what they do comes from love. Marc. My dad. Me."

That's what I mean. I said what I mean.

Leia nods. "I know."

And I don't need anything else.

She leans forward, reaching out for my hand. Her slender fingers around mine, and it's like something bonds. Something solid. The kind of thing we'll never have to explain. The kind of thing that makes you want to be brilliant.

"So what'd you think?" I say.

Leia exaggerates a pout. "Yeah. Pretty good," her head tilts, "for a first draft."

She leans back and picks up her notebook.

"Pretty good?"

She smiles. "I think we could do better, I mean, if you're up to it?"

I smile. She takes out her pen.

We are makers.

"We should start where it matters," I say.

We are the builders of ideas.

She's looking at me. The fire in her eyes.

"I guess we start with right now then."

Again, massive thanks to Nick, Sam, Hannah.

and everyone at HarperCollins Children's Books.

The more I learn, the happier I am to be with you.

Mary, our chats mean a lot.

Lily, your work helped so much.

Thank you, Cathryn and Siobhan, for making things feel easy.

Thank you, Lenny, Andrew, Nathan, Chrissy, Tuffy, Jenny, Marcello, Sandro, David, Aaron, Simon, Janet, Donna, Sian, Michael and Richard, for too many jokes and golden moments.

It's About Love was inspired by where I'm from and what I was shown.

Thank you, Glen, Mr Hogan and Nan the only role models I've ever needed.

Thank you, Yael, Sol and Dylan my best friends.

And, finally, when I was seventeen, a boy from the year above said something in a classroom that I doubt he'll even remember saying, but it genuinely changed the way I looked at the world. Wherever you are, Paul Evans, thank you.

Hello? Is it on?.

I'm just going to say it ....

2013.

Things happen for a reason. That's what Ameliah tells herself. The universe has a plan. Right? Why else would it take her parents? Then she finds an old tape, with a boy's voice on it a voice that seems to be speaking to her.

1993.

Ryan is lost. Mum gone, new stepmum, evil stepbrother. Why would this happen? He records a diary on a tape, for his mum, about a girl he just met, who he can't get out of his head.

Ameliah and Ryan are linked by more than just a tape.

This is their story.

Read an extract from TAPE ....

Hello? Is it on? Yeah, I can see the light. It's on. I'm starting again. I'm recording.

That just happened. That actually just happened and the crazy thing is it didn't even feel weird. I think I get it now, Dad. I think I understand.

It's probably best not to think about it too much, right?

The universe and everything.

I'm here. That's what matters. I'm here doing this and it happened. Just like you said, so I guess the universe is happy.

Was it always meant to be now? Sorry, I'll leave it alone.

Everything happens when it should.

This is what you did, sitting down and pressing record, and now it's gonna be what I do.

I'm talking into the speaker - how does that even work?

Everybody always said, 'It's important to get stuff out, Ameliah, put it down, it's part of moving on.' I never really listened.

I guess I just didn't want to do it their way. Maybe I wasn't ready, I dunno.

This feels different. This feels right.

So much has happened. There's so much to say, so I'm gonna say it.

It's half twelve now and I'm recording my voice on to this tape.

Just like you.

Ryan wiped the condensation from the small circular bathroom mirror with his fingers and imagined he was scraping ice from the window of a dug-up frozen submarine. A World War II sub discovered near the North Pole years after it was lost at sea. He pictured seeing the solid face of some old naval officer, frost in his moustache, eyes wide, staring out, frozen in the panic of realising he was about to be stuck forever.

He lowered his hand and saw only his own face, thirteen years old, flushed from the heat of the bath, his thick dark hair slicked back from getting out of the water.

Whenever Ryan looked into the mirror he felt an urge to slap himself in the face. Not because he was angry with himself and thought he deserved it, more because he'd seen it in a film once. The private investigator character staring at himself in the mirror after a crazy night of action and danger and slapping himself to make sure he was focused for a new day on the job.

Ryan lifted his hand level with the side of his face. He tensed the muscles in his arm, pulling his hand back ready to strike. His eyes narrowed as he prepared for the slap. Then he froze, staring at himself.

- Come on, you chicken, do it. Do it!

He let out a sigh, puffing out his cheeks as his arm moved back down to his side, and thought about how much space there was inside his mouth. How you could probably fit half a good-sized orange in each side between the teeth and your cheek.

- Yo!

The voice from outside the door came with a bang that shook the hinges and popped the air out of Ryan's face.

- I said yo! You better hurry up, weed, or I'll fold you in half.

Ryan stared at himself as the banging carried on.

He pictured Nathan's face on the other side of the door, getting more and more angry, twisting into shapes like some kind of mutant monster stepbrother. He reached for another towel and threw it over his head and shoulders like a boxer, getting himself ready for the title fight.

It was just over six months since Dad sat him down and told him that Sophia would be moving in and bringing Nathan too. Dad had asked him what he thought and he'd said it was a good idea because he'd seen the hope in Dad's eyes. They moved in the next week, which made Ryan realise it really didn't matter what he thought.

At least he didn't have to share his room. Dad's gesture to turn his office into a bedroom for Nathan meant Ryan at least got to keep his own space, although Nathan didn't seem all that clued up about the rules of privacy. He never knocked. He just barged in like he owned the place.

He was four months younger and yet a couple of inches taller and, truth be told, a lot stronger, although Ryan put that down to the fact that he seemed to eat non-stop. He even slept with a sandwich next to his pillow.

A month later Dad and Sophia got married in a small grey room in the council building. Ryan wore the same suit he'd worn to his mum's funeral. Back then it had been baggy; this time it fitted like a glove.

The night of the wedding Sophia had cornered him in the kitchen, when Ryan was trying to find more cherryade, and told him that she wasn't trying to replace his mum. That she loved his dad very much and wanted this to be a new start for everyone. Ryan had seen the look on her round face as she stood there awkwardly in too much make-up, her dark hair tied up, wearing her peach dress with frilly edges. Ryan had smiled and said that's what he wanted as well and Sophia had hugged him slightly too tight and the pop bottle had fallen out of his hand.