If it's possible, this book is even more wonderful than I remember. 
 I first read it in 2001, in that awkward time between my quasi-comfort zone of high school and the Great Unknown of college. And for anyone who sat quietly in the back of class, or who went along with their friends despite what they were doing, or roamed around a high school football game pretending to be looking for friends, this was their book. Our book. 
 We love Charlie, because we understand Charlie. We have unreciprocated crushes, we discover new things through our cool friends, we bond with our siblings to hide things from adults. His story is wonderful because of its simplicity, because he's both experiencing life and viewing it from the sidelines. And we get that. 
 There were so many details that I understand now, ten years later, that I didn't get then. That's what makes this book so bittersweet. That it was a personal experience without understanding it all. It's like when you're eleven years old and laugh at your friend's dirty jokes, even if you don't know what they mean. Because it's a still a bizarre sense of belonging. 
 The wallflower life is wonderful. It's not perfect--it's easy to turn into a human doormat, and/or put everyone's else's happiness above your own--but real. And there are so many others out there who are feeling the same thing. And even if we want to be part of the crowd, we're also content just watching from the sidelines.