Celebrate all the ways love makes us who we are with the sequel to the New York Times bestseller Every Day , now a major motion picture. Every day a new body. Every day a new life. Every day a new choice. For as long as A can remember, life has meant waking up in a different person's body every day, forced to live as that person until the day ended. A always thought there wasn't anyone else who had a life like this. But A was wrong. There are others. A has already been wrestling with powerful feelings of love and loneliness. Now comes an understanding of the extremes that love and loneliness can lead to -- and what it's like to discover that you are not alone in the world. In Someday , David Levithan takes readers further into the lives of A, Rhiannon, Nathan, and the person they may think they know as Reverend Poole, exploring more deeply the questions at the core of Every Day and Another Day : What is a soul? And what makes us human? Praise for Someday: "Like the other two books about A, this is a novel of ideas that challenges readers to wonder if someday there will be another novel about these wonderful characters. One hopes so." —Booklist , starred review Praise for Every Day: "A story that is always alluring, oftentimes humorous and much like love itself-- splendorous." —Los Angeles Times "Wise, wildly unique." — EW When not writing during spare hours on weekends, David Levithan is editorial director at Scholastic and the founding editor of the PUSH imprint, which is devoted to finding new voices and new authors in teen literature. His acclaimed novels  Boy Meets Boy  and  The Realm of Possibility  started as stories he wrote for his friends for Valentine's Day (something he's done for the past 22 years and counting) that turned themselves into teen novels. He's often asked if the book is a work of fantasy or a work of reality, and the answer is right down the middle—it's about where we're going, and where we should be. Rhiannon       Every time the doorbell rings, I think it might be A. Every time someone looks at me for a beat too long. Every time a message arrives in my inbox. Every time the phone displays a number I don’t know. For a second or two, I fool myself into believing.    It’s hard to remember someone when you don’t know what they look like. Because A changes from day to day, it’s impossible to choose a memory and have it mean more than that single day. No matter how I picture A, it’s not going to be what A looks like now. I remember A as a boy and as a girl, as tall and short, skin and hair all different colors. A blur. But the blur takes the shape of how A made me feel, and that may be the most accurate shape of all.   A has been gone a month. I should be used to it. But how can there be any separation when A is in so many of my thoughts? Isn’t that as close as you can get to another person, to have them constantly inside your head?   As I’m thinking all these things, feeling all these things, I can’t let any of them show. Look at me and you will see: A girl who has finally buried the remains of her last bad relationship. A girl with a great new boyfriend. A girl with friends who support her and a family that isn’t more annoying than any other family. You will not see anything missing--you will not sense the part of her that’s been left inside someone else. Maybe if you look into her eyes long enough and know what to look for. But the point is: The person who knew how to look at me like that is gone.   My boyfriend, Alexander, knows there’s something I’m not telling him, but he’s not the kind of guy who wants to know everything. He gives me space. He tells me it’s fine to take things slow. I can tell that he’s fallen for me, that he really wants this to work. I want it to work, too.   But I also want A.   Even if we can’t be together. Even if we’re no longer near each other. Even if all I get is a hello, and not even a how are you?--I want to know where A is, and that A thinks of me at least some of the time. Even if it means nothing now, I want to know it meant something once.       The doorbell rings. I am the only one home. My thoughts race to A--I allow myself to picture the stranger at the door who isn’t really a stranger. I imagine the light in his eyes, or maybe her eyes. I imagine A saying a solution has been found, a way has been devised to stay in the same body for longer than a single day without hurting anyone.   “Coming!” I yell out. I’m stupidly nervous as I get to the door and throw it open.   The boy I find there is familiar, but at first I don’t recognize him.   “Are you Rhiannon?” he asks.   As I nod, I’m realizing who he is.   “Nathan?” I say.   Now he’s surprised, too.   “I know you, don’t I?” he asks.   I answer honestly. “It depends on what you remember.”   I know this is dangerous ground. Nathan is not supposed to remember the day that A was in his body, borrowing his life. He is not supposed to