“Yeah, totally. I punch myself in the arms a lot. It's a real problem.”

“I thought it could be something, I mean, eventually." Harrison finally looks at us. "My life I thought-but I mean... it's nothing.""Don't cry" Grace says. "You have a lot of time.""No, I don't.""Yeah, you do.""No.-""Yeah! Yeah, you do. It's okay. Look-"She does something that is so amazingly selfless and also gross. She tilts Harrison's face up and gives him a sweet kiss on the lips and it lasts long enough for him to taste her back, to move his mouth against hers.Harrison stares at her dumbfounded but he's stopped cryingShe is so nice.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, and then, for good measure: “Whatever.”

“Tell Liz,' I say, 'the mean girl totally got what she deserved in the end.”

“Sometimes I feel hunted by my grief. It circles me, stalks me. It's always in my periphery. Sometimes I can fake it out. Sometimes I make myself go so still, it can't sense that I'm there anymore and it goes away. I do that right now.”

“Eddie, It's like you died that night," he whispers.So that's it. I died.I've been dead.I blink back the tears and pick at the mattress, but I don't say anything. I don't know what I could say to him. I don't know how to convince him I'm still here when I'm not sure of it myself anymore.”

“When he sees me, he stops.His eyes widen, his face pales.And then before i can say anything, he's holding me.And the worst part is-I want to hold him.But I also want to slap him, hit him. Punch him. Tear out his throat.I want him to tell me what he did to me was a mistake. Some horrible mix-up. . .after I'm done holding him back.”