“You like me, Clara, he says. "I know you do.”

“Clara,” he says quietly. “I think it’s time you told me about what happened in Italy.”

“Have a nice life, Clara,” he says. “You deserve to be happy.”

“It's been nice knowing you, Clara.'Huh? My brain still a bit shell-shocked.'Say a prayer for me, will you? He gives me a shaky grin. Because I'm pretty sure my parents are going to kill me”

“He gives me a kiss that barely touches my lips – it means nothing or everything. After he’s gone, I think, Happy birthday to me.Jack says, ‘That was the guy?’‘That was him.’Jake shakes his head.‘What?’‘He’s not for you,’ he says.I say, ‘How do you know?’ but what I mean is, How do you know?‘He’s like Ashley Wilkes,’ he says. ‘Any one of these guys is Rhett-ier than he is.’Again, I ask my benignly inflected, ‘How do you know?’‘How do I know?’ he says, tackling me into a bear hug. ‘How do I know? I know, that’s how I know.”

“Hey Clara-Bell, how’s it going? Are you going to eat that?” Using his stupid pet name, he pointed at the vomit-like mass called peach cobbler.“No, you can have it. You like to eat more than me.” “What can I say? I’m a growing boy with a hollow leg.”