From the author of Fault Line comes an edgy and heartbreaking novel about two self-destructive teens in a Sid and Nancy–like romance full of passion, chaos, and dyed hair. Seventeen-year-old Amelia Gannon (just “Gannon” to her friends) is invisible to almost everyone in her life. To her parents, to her teachers—even her best friend, who is more interested in bumming cigarettes than bonding. Some days the only way Gannon knows she is real is by carving bloody lines into the flesh of her stomach. Then she meets Michael Brooks, and for the first time, she feels like she is being seen to the core of her being. Obnoxious, controlling, damaged, and addictive, he inserts himself into her life until all her scars are exposed. Each moment together is a passionate, painful relief. But as the relationship deepens, Gannon starts to feel as if she’s standing at the foot of a dam about to burst. She’s given up everything and everyone in her life for him, but somehow nothing is enough for Brooks—until he poses the ultimate test. Bleed Like Me is a piercing, intimate portrayal of the danger of a love so obsessive it becomes its own biggest threat. Gr 9 Up—Seventeen-year-old Amelia Gannon is the apple of her parents' eyes for the first 12 years of her life. Then, they decide to adopt, and the girl winds up with three orphaned brothers who had been living in the streets of Guatemala. Overwhelmed by what they have taken on, Amelia's father begins spending most of his time "at work," leaving her mother to deal with the wild, streetwise boys alone. Unable to cope, her mother only spends time with Amelia when asking her for help. Amelia starts avoiding home altogether, dividing her time between school and her job at the hardware store and cutting herself to deal with the anger and feelings of abandonment. Michael Brooks has been in foster care since getting out of juvenile detention, where social workers discovered the scars from his father's beatings. He turns to drugs and various forms of physical pain to handle his own anger and fear. When the two teens meet, an obsessive relationship forms that sends both of their already troubled lives spiraling deep into addiction and despair. The story suggests that the systems that are currently in place to deal with troubled adolescents provide little if any rehabilitation and, in some cases, make things worse. Author Desir offers readers little to hold onto other than a slim thread of hope for recovery in the epilogue.—Cary Frostick, formerly at Mary Riley Styles Public Library, Falls Church, VA "Edgy, dark, and turbulent with passion, Desir’s second novel offers a bleak yet compassionate rawness instead of a lecture. Be prepared to have your heart wrenched from your chest." ― Booklist C. Desir writes dark contemporary fiction for young adults. She lives with her husband, three small children, and overly enthusiastic dog outside of Chicago. She has volunteered as a rape victim activist for more than ten years, including providing direct service as an advocate in hospital ERs. She also works as an editor at Samhain Publishing. Visit her at ChristaDesir.com. Bleed Like Me 1 I wasn’t supposed to be born. My mom’s doctors had told her over and over that severe endometrial scarring would make it practically impossible for her to carry a baby. But my infant self didn’t care about scarring. Or the partial hysterectomy Mom had to get after my delivery. And for most of my childhood, we were happy in our little pod of three—Mom, Dad, me. Until my parents got a different notion about the magic number three: adopting three boys from Guatemala. And I learned to disappear. It was easier for everyone. I became the quiet one. The one who didn’t drain my parents of everything they had. Pathetic as it might sound, going to school and working at the Standard Hardware were the good things in my life. When I wasn’t there, I was tucked away in my bedroom, coming out only to referee arguments between Mom and my brothers when one of the neighbors called about the noise. Or to help when Mom gave me the ragged, desperate face she had on now as I stood at the open front door. Her gray roots were an inch thick at the crown of her head, and she was wearing the same outfit she slipped on every day after work: stained, discolored T-shirt, saggy sweatpants with too-loose elastic at the waist. “Luis has locked himself in the bathroom again and Alex won’t eat any of his snack until Luis comes out.” Her exhausted voice passed through me. I’d heard it for almost five years, too long to even remember what the Mom of my childhood sounded like. I dropped my messenger bag at my feet and opened the drawer of the small side table next to the overloaded coatrack in the hall. I plucked one of the emergency hotel key cards from its box and took the stairs two at a time. My heavy boots squeaked on the scuffed hardwood. The loud explosions from Miguel’s Call of Duty game echoed from the living room. I po