“Hellos are harder than good-byes”

“If this were a fairy tale, this would be the part where the fishboy appears and Diana shoots him through the heart. Because he is a tragic hero, he's our fucking Gatsby, and he lived for his fish and he has to die for his fish. He would never let my fake authority, condoning his abandonment, making up rules about what's okay just to save his life, convince him to give up his family. He would never leave.He would know that without him, none of us will be as good. Me, without a friend; and the fish, without a brother; and the island, without a story; and Diana, without her something real, we will all be a little bit less than we were before we knew him.So he wouldn't leave. Not until I could come with him. And I have never been less able to leave than I am now.But this isn't a fairy tale, and he doesn't appear. We stand here for a long time.He really left.Because it was all that we could do.”

“When you're grieving, the times you're happy are so much more tragic than the times that you aren't. Because being happy feels fake and it feels temporary and it feels meaningless. And hating being happy is a shitty way to live.”

“Soon we're both frowning hard at the paperwork. "Middle name?" Noah says. "Does Gideon even have a middle name?""I don't know"Noah turns to me and says, "Do you have a middle name?" his glare implying that, if I do, this whole thing is somehow my fault."I...have no idea.""Primary language spoken at home." Noah makes a face. "What does this mean? Our primary language? Gideon's? That's sort of why we're here...""Um, it's under family, so I'm guessing ours?""Well..." Noah lowers his pen. The paperwork has defeated him. "What's our primary language?""English? ASL? Physical affection?""Food?" Noah says."Food's a good guess."He picks up the pen. "I'm writing food, comma passive aggressive.""Good call.”

“So once the zookeeper realized it was the monkeys who stole the bananas, he knew there was only one way he'd be able to get them back.""How?" I whispered. My throat was so sore."Don't talk. He had to beat them in shuffleboard, of course.""What?""I said don't talk. Monkeys love shuffleboard."He used a page from a homework assignment he'd failed and a stack of quarters to make a shuffleboard court. I watched the monkeys and the zookeepers have their showdown while I sipped the last of my applejuice."Need more?" Graham asked me without looking up, when my straw skidded against the dry bottom of the box."Uh uh.""You're supposed to drink juice.""I just drank some.""More, though."I shook my head."Drink more juice or the monkeys are going to kill you. The only thing they love more than shuffleboard is beating up dehydrated sick boys.”

“Just wanted to let you know I got in all right. And also that my chest hurts as if I MAY BE DYING, because I accidentally left my heart on your kitchen counter. I hate when that happens.”

“What’s love when you’re too fucked up to feel it right?I think it’s a weapon.”