“She points at two big steps on the back of her bike. "You have training... somethings? What are they?""Feet platforms. My dad made them for my cousin to use. Step on.""But I don't have a cool helmet with a lightning bolt.""Your head is hard enough.""Funny." I steady myself without touching her."To the train yard," she says and pushes on the pedals. We don't move."Anytime," I tell her. 'You know. While we're still young and beautiful."She pushes hard again. "You weight a ton.""You need me to drive?""I need momentum, that's all. Get off.""You're very charming, but you must hear that all the time.""Get off," she says. "I'll ride, and you run after me and jump on the bike.""Do many guys ask you out twice?""Only the ones with balls.”

“To the train yard,' she says and pushes on the pedals. We don't move. `Anytime,' I tell her. `You know. While we're still young and beautiful.' She pushes hard again. `You weigh a tonne.' `You need me to drive?' `I need momentum, that's all. Get off.'`You're very charming, but you must hear that all the time.' `Get off,' she says.`I'll ride and you run after me and jump on the bike.' `Do many guys ask you out twice?' `Only the ones with balls.”

“I think if you like somebody you have to tell them. It might be embarrassing to say it, but you will never regret stepping up. I know from personal experience, however, that you should not keep telling a girl that you like her after she tells you she isn't into it. You should not keep riding your bike by her house either.”

“The train braked. Five-minute stop. The man got off. All very ordinary, of course. But still. Flore came back, passed by me. She touched my arm, returned to her seat. I could have ripped my arm off. You don't need two arms. One good arm, fine, and the other one, the one she'd just touched, in formaldehyde. On the mantelpiece. In my big apartment. When she leaves me.”

“Could have been, mind you. And that's one big mother of a conditional. Because who's to say she wanted me in the same way? After all, she left me, didn't she? Maybe I didn't try too hard to get her to stay but what words are there for begging? Please? Don't go, honey? They're crippled halfwits, those sentences, and besides, who uses a lot of words in a friendship anyway? You run out of things to say pretty early on, that's my experience. Sure, you start off thick enough, so many words you could gag on them. The facts, and the sentences - and the sticky tears. Out it comes, out it all comes, the fat story of your life but before you know it you've talked your guts out and there's nothing left to say. You go to her, to confide, and choke up air.”

“Over and over I had to reassure her. “You hate me,” she would say. “Lori, I don’t hate you. I love you.” Finally it began to dawn on me. When she challenged me like that, she wasn’t making a statement. She was asking a question. And she needed to hear the answer. She needed to hear that I still accepted her. She needed to hear that I still cared for her. Over and over again she needed to hear me tell her that I loved her.”