“Amanda meant to move, but somehow her feet didn't do anything. They were like Quebec, determined to be independent.”

“He didn't see anything."She rolled to her feet. "I was in your bed! We could have scarred him for life!""Grace, we weren't doing anything. Well, I wasn't. You were snoring.""I don't--" She smoothed her dress down and searched out her sandals, shoving her feet into them. She glanced at herself in the mirror over his dresser and groaned. Hair, wild. Lips, swollen. Face, flushed. Nipples, hard."Dammit!" She clapped her hands over them. "It's like they're broken!”

“At the age of three my grand aunt proclaimed her independence by categorically refusing to have her feet bound, resolutely tearing off the bandages as fast as they were applied.”

“Did the rhythm of the train on the tracks somehow unravel her and make her behave out of character? Was she altered in transit, when her feet were not upon the ground?”

“amanda thought about her addiction to being on the move. about whether she was running away or running toward. ”

“I knew you were meant to kiss girls, but there was something else that you were meant to do first, and I didn't know what that was.”