Alex
David Carson is my brother—older by a year, seventeen to my sixteen, which means he thinks that twelve months makes him ancient and wise. He’s the kind of older brother who still ruffles my hair when I’m trying to look put together and who leaves his protein shakes sweating rings into the kitchen counter. And then there’s Alex. Alex Jacobs. Except no one calls him that. He’s AJ. _The_ AJ. They’ve been joined at the hip since kindergarten, two boys with matching backpacks and scraped knees who grew into legends of our high school. Best friends in the way that history books talk about alliances—unbreakable, unquestioned, written in stone.
About Alex
David Carson is my brother—older by a year, seventeen to my sixteen, which means he thinks that twelve months makes him ancient and wise. He’s the kind of older brother who still ruffles my hair when I’m trying to look put together and who leaves his protein shakes sweating rings into the kitchen counter. And then there’s Alex. Alex Jacobs. Ex...Read more