Few authors have chronicled the struggles of LGBTQ youth like David Levithan.

Beginning with his 2003 novel Boy Meets Boy, Levithan creates compelling stories with realistic characters whose identities are far more complex than the tropes often found in literature, especially YA.

This year, Levithan is returning to the world of his 2013 New York Times bestselling novel Every Day, an imaginative and thought-provoking novel about A, who wakes up every morning in a different body. Throughout the book, A avoids forming human connections until he meets Rhiannon, a girl who forces A to confront what it means to love someone.

In Another Day, Levithan tells the same story from the point of view of Rhiannon, A's love interest, not only changing the perspective but also creating a completely new and poignant story about the nature and capacity of love. Not a sequel, this companion novel is perfect for both Levithan fans and new readers.

MashableReads recently spoke with Levithan about finding a new angle on an old story, and the pressures and joys of writing LGBTQ characters.

Mashable: What drew you back to the characters from Every Day? Why did you specifically want to tell Rhiannon's side? I started rewriting the first chapter of Every Day from Rhiannon's point of view as possible bonus material for the original book — but within a couple of pages, I knew it was not in fact bonus material, but a new novel.

With Every Day, I had wanted to explore what it would be like to have an identity that wasn't defined by a body, and also what it would be like to love someone who changed every day. I felt that I had answered the first question well, but couldn't really explore the second question fully until I was seeing the story through Rhiannon's eyes. So I decided to rewrite it through her eyes. Though you've said Another Day can stand alone, how do you think it works with Every Day beyond merely showing us Rhiannon's thoughts? While Rhiannon's situation is rather unique, I think the questions surrounding it and the conflicts she faces are somewhat universal. We all wonder whether we're in love with the wrong person. We all wonder if there might be a better path. The person we're with is always deeply tied to the way we see ourselves. Rhiannon has to grapple with that — not because of A, but because of life. What are the challenges of writing a novel that takes place at the same time and often the same place as an existing novel? I think it's safe to say that, if I had known I was going to write this book, I would have given myself a little more room in the first one — but if that's the challenge, it was an interesting one to have.

Sometimes I'd be thrown off by a throwaway line in Every Day that I had to somehow account for in Another Day. And other times it was just interesting to be so enmeshed in Rhiannon's point of view that I forgot everything else. One of the reasons I knew I wanted to write the book was because when I rewrote the first chapter, I was seeing Justin there, not A underneath. Trans issues are very top of mind in the news today, and while Every Day dealt with A's shifting gender identities, Rhiannon's take is one similar to the bulk of our society who are only now really being introduced to what life is like for trans people. What do you want readers to take away from Rhiannon's experience with gender identity? A is actually more genderqueer or genderfluid than trans –- but I certainly see your point. I think our society is on a learning curve about gender, and what defines gender. A is, by the nature of A's experience, much more open, seeing everything at the human level. Rhiannon, like most of us, is further back on the learning curve, and has to suddenly question her own beliefs and the way she looks at the world, which is an important thing for individuals and societies to do in order to grow to be as just and kind as they should be. You have written characters across the LGBTQ spectrum in your career, and cultural and political perceptions of LGBTQ people have changed drastically in that time. How has this affected your writing? What I love about this question is that it is only a period of a dozen years that we're talking about — but things have changed drastically. And the reason they've changed drastically is that something that was abstract suddenly became human to a lot of people — the more our stories were told, the more our friends and family and neighbors saw who we are, the more we were able to dismantle prejudices and get to the truth.

We still have plenty of distance to travel, especially in terms of trans rights. But I've certainly been emboldened by the progress, and by the proof that stories to matter, because empathy is everything. How do you approach writing LGBTQ themes and characters for a YA audience, considering many teens are struggling with their own identities? I take care with all of my characters and all of my stories, as any good writer should. I don't think I take any particularly different approach to write about LGBTQ+ experiences. Being gay myself, it's certainly coming as much from the interior as it is from observation. Hopefully, if I'm true to myself, the books have an element of truth to them, too. And that tends to be what resonates. What do you want readers, both LGBTQ and not, to take away from your work? That's a question only the reader can answer. I certainly have hopes, but my hopes don't really matter when it's just between the reader and the words on the page. If you could wake up tomorrow in someone else's body for a day, whom would you choose? Writing about it and thinking about it for so long, what's clear to me is that I would do everything possible to not wake up in someone else's body.

Image: Random House

Chapter 2

Mom is up before me, as usual, in the same place at the kitchen table. It's like she thinks Dad or I will steal her seat if she doesn't beat us to it—and if she loses the seat, where will she spend the rest of the day? “You look nice,” she tells me. Which would be a compliment, if she didn't sound suspicious. I don't tell her that I made sure to look nice because it's the one-day anniversary of everything getting better. She'd shoot that down real quick. “I have to give a report,” I tell her. “In class.” I know she's not going to ask me what report, or what class. Eager. I want to get to school as soon as possible, to see him. I hope he's feeling the same way over at his house. I could text him and ask, but if things are going to change, then I can change, too. I don't need to know everything all the time. Mom and I say more to each other, but neither of us is really listening. I want to go, and she wants to stay. It's the story of our lives. I have to take the bus because my car is still at school. I could ask Rebecca or someone else to drive me, but then I would have to spend the whole ride talking about things instead of thinking about them. His car isn't there when my bus gets in. In fact, he doesn't show up until almost everyone else has pulled in. But this time he notices me waiting. Walks over. Says good morning. I am trying hard not to barrage him with happiness. It's still early in the morning. He's barely awake. “Sure you don't want to run away?” I ask. Just to pull a little bit of yesterday into today. He looks confused. “Are you serious?” “No,” I tell him. “But a girl can dream, right?” “Whatever.” He starts walking, assuming I'll fall in step right beside him. Which I do. I get it. Kind of. Since it's not like we're going to do it again today, it's probably best not to think of it as an option. Other¬wise, whatever we do today will feel pathetic in comparison. I reach for his hand. He doesn't take it. “What's gotten into you?” he asks. Yesterday, I want to tell him. But from the way he looks straight ahead, I figure now's not the right time. He doesn't even wait to hear my answer to his question. He just keeps moving. I tell myself it's not Angry Justin. It's Lost Justin. It has to be. When you picture someone lost, it's usually in someplace like the woods. But with Justin, I imagine a classroom. It's not that he has a learning disability or anything. That would be a good reason. But no. He's just bored. So he doesn't keep up with what's going on. And it only gets worse, and he only gets more lost, which only makes him hate it more. I am trying to stay on the beach. As the teachers talk and as Justin and I barely say hello between first and second period, I am reminding myself what it was like. I am turning my mind into a time machine, because I need to. I know Rebecca's going to pin me down third period, when we're sitting next to each other in art. And that's exactly what she does. “Where were you?” she whispers. “What happened?” Art is one of the only classes we have together, because my school likes to keep the smart kids away from the not-smart kids, as if being in class with me might hurt Rebecca's test scores. In art, some of the not-smart kids get their revenge. I like that it gives me and Rebecca a chance to be together. Mr. K has put a car engine at the front of the room, and has asked us to draw it in charcoal. He always says we're not supposed to talk while we're working, but as long as we're not too loud and we're getting our work done, he doesn't really mind. Rebecca's engine is turning out worse than mine, and I feel bad that this makes me feel better. I tell her that Justin and I escaped to the beach. I tell her it was an in-the-moment thing, and that it was wonderful. “You should have asked me and Ben to come along,” she says. Ben is her boyfriend. He's smart, too. Justin doesn't like him at all. “Next time,” I tell her. We both know it'll never happen, but we're okay with that. Our friendship doesn't need her to skip school, and it doesn't need Ben and Justin to get along. She and I have enough history that we don't need to make a whole lot happen in the present to be close. “Wasn't it cold?” she asks. “Too cold to swim,” I say. “But warm enough to be there.” She nods. Whatever I say to her usually makes sense. I'm just leaving out some of the details. I wonder if I'm supposed to meet him at his locker like yesterday. But lunchtime habit takes me to the cafeteria first, and there he is, at our usual spot. “Hey,” I say. He nods. I sit down. “Has anyone said anything to you about yesterday?” I ask. “I mean, you haven't gotten into any trouble, have you?” He dips a French fry into some ketchup. That's all he's having for lunch. “It's all good, I think,” he says. “You?” “Rebecca was curious. But that's it so far.” “Rebecca? Curious? Now there's a shocker.” “She said next time she and Ben want to go driving with us.” “I'm not sure Ben would let us inside his Mercedes. We'd have to take our shoes off first.” This one time, we went over to Ben's house and he asked all of us to take off our shoes before we came inside. Justin and I found that hysterical. “Doesn't he know that our socks are much nastier than our shoes?” Justin asked. It became one of our jokes. “Don't say anything to Rebecca,” I make Justin promise. He pretends to be zipping his lips. I relax. I go and get my lunch, and when I come back, Rebecca and some other friends are at the table, so Justin and I are part of the big conversation instead of having our own. When the bell rings, I ask him if he can do something after school, and he says no, he has to work. He says it like I should have his work schedule memorized. But Target sends the email to him, not me. I do not point this out. Instead, I remind myself that I am lucky I don't have to work yet. I remind myself that Justin hates his job. I remind myself that yesterday was all about a choice, but not every day allows us to make our own choices. The important thing is that when he had a chance, he chose me. And I have to hope that next time, he'll choose me again. He texts me when he gets home from work. Two words. Long day. I text him back one word. Yeah. • • • Patterns. The next day, I think about patterns. Or, really, I think about ups and downs. I am used to ups and downs. Monday, when we were at the beach, was an up. I can see that. But now—it's neither an up nor a down. It's like we've disappeared from the chart. He's not mad at me. I can feel that. But his love has gone passive. I don't understand. And there's no one to talk to about it. Not Justin. Every time I mention the beach, it's like it never happened. Not Rebecca. If I told her more, it might sound crazier than it really is. Not my mom. She and I don't talk about ups or downs, as a way of not having them. I know what he and I had on Monday is worth fighting for. But I have no one to fight, so I turn on myself instead. I know I wasn't imagining things. But I seem to have been sent back to my imagination now.

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