“Imagine 4 years.Four years, two suicides, one death, one rape, two pregnancies (one abortion), three overdoses, countless drunken antics, pantsings, spilled food, theft, fights, broken limbs, turf wars–every day, a turf war–six months until graduation and no one gets a medal when they get out. But everything you do here counts. High school.”

“I didn't want to be popular because it was easier; I wanted to be popular because in high school that's the best thing you can be: perfect. Everything else is shit.”

“Hey, let’s give her some space. Get back to the game, guys,” Chris says. Thank God for him, just this once. “And cheerleading. Get back to that, too.” No one moves. “Okay, fuck off, basically, is what I’m saying. Fuck off!”

“Time passes too quickly when you're getting ready to do something you don't want to do.”

“Is this what it's like to get close to other people--you do something insane together and then you have to share everything even if you don't really want to?”

“I hear the unmistakable sound of glass breaking and I start apologizing to no one, trying to pick it up again, but I can't. I can't get my hands to work because they're too cold.”

“There's always this one girl. She's desperate and she's weird and she's jealous, and you're stuck with her, no matter how hard you try to get her off your back. Just throw some really fucked-up self-esteem issues into the mix and you have Kara.”