A heartbreaking yet uplifting story about a boy who has lost everything but finds new hope drawing in the shadows of a hospital. Features a thirty-two-page graphic novel. Andrew Brawley was supposed to die that night, just like the rest of his family. Now he lives in the hospital, serving food in the cafeteria, hanging out with the nurses, sleeping in a forgotten supply closet. Drew blends in to near invisibility, hiding from his past, his guilt, and those who are trying to find him. His only solace is in the world of the superhero he’s created—Patient F. Then, one night, Rusty is wheeled into the ER, half his body burned by hateful classmates. Rusty’s agony is like a beacon for Drew, pulling them together through all their pain and grief. In Rusty, Drew sees hope, happiness, and a future for both of them. A future outside of the hospital, and away from their painful pasts. But to save Rusty, Drew will have to confront death, and life might get worse before it gets better. And by telling the truth about who he really is, Drew risks any chance of a future…for both of them. " The Five Stages of Andrew Brawley broke my heart, then put it back together again. I truly loved this book." -- Bruce Coville "A wonderfully written book that is more proof that the genre of 'LGBT YA lit' simply knows no bounds." -- Brent Hartinger ― author of GEOGRAPHY CLUB "The Five Stages of Andrew Brawley is as inventive as it is moving. A beautiful book." -- Trish Doller ― author of WHERE THE STARS STILL SHINE "Hutchinson builds believable secondary characters and presents unexpectedly fresh plotting and genuine repartee—the conversations among Drew and his two teen friends feel particularly real and are full of insight and humor. Hutchinson remains an author worth watching." -- Kirkus Reviews “Dark and frequently grim situations are lightened by realistic dialogue and genuineness of feeling. [A] heartbreaking yet ultimately hopeful work from a writer to watch.” -- Booklist "In this haunting tale of grief and recovery, [Hutchinson] spins an engrossing story, with Drew’s perceptions lending it an almost surreal, supernatural quality...further developed by violent excerpts from [the included graphic novel] Patient F." -- Publishers Weekly Shaun David Hutchinson is the author of numerous books for young adults, including The Past and Other Things That Should Stay Buried , The Apocalypse of Elena Mendoza , At the Edge of the Universe , and We Are the Ants . He also edited the anthologies Violent Ends and Feral Youth and wrote the memoir Brave Face , which chronicles his struggles with depression and coming out during his teenage years. He lives in Seattle, where he enjoys drinking coffee, yelling at the TV, and eating cake. Visit him at ShaunDavidHutchinson.com or on Twitter @ShaunieDarko. Five Stages of Andrew Brawley The boy is on fire. EMTs wheel him into Roanoke General’s sterile emergency room. He screams and writhes on the gurney as though the fire that burned his skin away burns still, flaring deep within his bones, where the paramedics and doctors and nurses crowding around him, working desperately, will never be able to extinguish it. The boy looks my age, seventeen. His hair, where it isn’t singed, is the color of autumn leaves. The kind of leaves I used to rake into piles with my dad and take running jumps into. I can’t see the boy’s eyes from where I’m hiding, but his voice is a chain. It grates as agony drags it out of his throat. The skin on his legs and part of his chest is charred black. The scent of burning lingers in my nose, and even as bile rises into the back of my throat, I can’t help thinking of all the times I barbecued with my family during the summer. Mom would squirrel away extra food in the back of the fridge because Dad always burned the chicken. It’s late, and I should be gone, but I can’t take my eyes off the boy. I’m a prisoner of his animal howls. There is nowhere in this hospital that I could hide to escape his screams. So I stay. And watch. And listen. A girl runs in, arms windmilling about. Screaming words that I barely hear over the sound of my own heart thudding. “. . . in the pool . . . party . . . he was yelling . . .” The paramedics restrain the girl, and she shrinks. She’s a broken mirror. The pieces are just reflected bits of us: our anger, our horror, our fear, borrowed and returned. She can keep mine. I focus on the boy. The biggest concern is protecting his airway. I know that. It’s basic stuff. If the boy breathed the fire, it might not matter what his skin looks like. That his screams reach every corner of Roanoke’s claustrophobic emergency room is a good thing. When he stops screaming is when I’ll worry. The doctors and nurses huddle, discussing their plan of attack, maybe; praying, maybe. Mourning, maybe. The boy needs miracles. The storybook-magic kind. One of the doctors—an octopus of a woman working with all eight arms simultaneousl