“If I was the pope, I'd've made Mrs. de Roo a saint. On the spot.”

“I would have made a good pope.”

“...I put you on the pedestal - made you a saint - dare I blaspheme?...”

“Roo: What’s your definition of popularity?Hutch: I used to think people were popular because they were good-looking, or nice, or funny, or good at sports. Roo: Aren’t they?Hutch: I’d think, if I could just be those things, I’d – you know – have more friends than I do. But in seventh grade, when Jackson and those guys stopped hanging out with me, I tried as hard as I could to get them to like me again. But then . . . (shaking his head as if to clear it) I don’t really wanna talk about it. Roo: What happened? Hutch: They just did some ugly stuff to me is all. And really, it was for the best. Roo: Why?Hutch: Because I was cured. I realized the popular people weren’t nice or funny or great-looking. They just had power, and they actually got the power by teasing people or humiliating them – so people bonded to them out of fear. Roo: Oh. Hutch: I didn’t want to be a person who could act like that. I didn’t want to ever speak to any person who could act like that. Roo: OhHutch: So then I wasn’t trying to be popular anymore. Roo: Weren’t you lonely?Hutch: I didn’t say it was fun. (He bites his thumbnail, bonsai dirt and all.) I said it was for the best.”

“I shall drink to the Pope, if you please, still, to conscience first, and to the Pope afterwards.”

“Wait a minute— who is Mrs. Alexander Banks eight thousand and twenty-one?"Uh-oh. He'd spotted the small icon at the top with my log-in name. I felt my face heat up. "It's just, uh, a name. Everyone has to log in under a made-up name."He turned to me, narrowing his eyes. "Is this your made-up name?”