“Sixteen-year-old guys smell like deodorant and fast food. Then you turn seventeen and you get fresh.”

“Dad laughs. “You want to take a break? Go play with them?”The problem is I’m sixteen, almost seventeen, and I don’t want to play with them as much as I want to want to play with them. Maybe this feeling is what Noah’s been running from.”

“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.”

“You only get so many chances to be destroyed. Got to make the most of them.”

“Break a body, grow a better body. The worse you're hurt, the stronger you get.”

“I like books. I thought you liked books.""Let's be honest, Rudy, books are pornography for brains. All that subtext and bullshit and hidden imagery.”

“Craig,” he says, in that tone that’s like, I’m one step away from middle-naming you.”