“If you've ever rubbed shoulders with insanity, he is a sweaty, foul-breathed cab driver who locks the door and takes you wherever he wants. The more you squirm to get out, the happier he seems to get. Insanity loves- no, needs-company.”

“When all great movements are in their infancy, they are nourished basically on the mother's milk of righteous indignation. It is a time of red-faced screaming and finger pointing. That's a good thing - we need to be angry to move toward any systemic change. But ultimately the fingers have to stop pointing and the hand has got to get down to work - and the work is always messy.”

“Let me explain before another word is written: I have never once asked a cat, "So tell me what's up, Charlie?" and Charlie says, "Jeez Jackson, thanks for asking. A little annoyed by the fluorescent lights, and will you please check out this tiny piece-of-junk pan I have to crap in but, hey, I still got my legs, you know? Can't complain, pal.”

“I’m sorry, Rosie,” Silas says when he sees the sadness in my eyes. I shake my head, trying to brush the look away, but Silas isn’t easily deterred. He hesitates, then leans on the counter beside me, moving slowly as if he needs verification that each move is acceptable, wanted.“Hey,” he says, resting two fingers on my arm. It starts as a friendly gesture. I press my lips together as he slides his palm up my arm and around his shoulders. Silas paused, and though I’m not certain, I think he realizes that the touch is far more friendly as well—a thought that makes me dizzy but practically forces me to move my own hand to the small of his back. I close my eyes and inhale, and I feel Silas’s breath on my forehead, hear his relaxed heartbeats. His lips are so close to me, I could easily tilt my head back and kiss him if I were braver. It’s hard to not sigh, like the exhausted breath is building up in my chest and I’m holding it back, though more than anything I want to release it, to truly hold myself against him—Scarlett’s shower cuts off. Silas snatches his arm away and I lean back up, head swirling from the quick change.“Um . . . right,” Silas says, looking startled. He looks at me. “Okay, back to studying Potentials, wolves, important stuff . . .” He shakes his head as if he’s casting away a mental fog.I bite my lip. I want to get out of here—I need to get out of here, or the thumping desire for Silas is going to consume me. There’s no way Scarlett won’t figure it out if I can’t escape and get my mind off him. It’s just for a little while—I can go get groceries or something. Silas will help her research. We can’t keep paying for Chinese food. I meet Silas’s eyes, dashes of sky color in the monotone apartment.“I’ll be back,” I say, then dart for the door.“Wait!” he whispers sharply. He lunges toward the couch and tosses me the belt with my knives on it. “Just in case.” I catch it with one hand and swing it around my waist. Silas gives me a sly smile—does he know the affect that smile has on me?”

“I look back at Silas, who is adding more sugar to his coffee. “Okay. Fine. One class, but only because I might not get another chance once we’re back in Ellison. And you have to promise not to tell Scarlett.”“Only if you let me pay for it,” he counters.“Silas,” I say threateningly.He shrugs. “You and Lett are broke. And besides, if you pay for it, Scarlett will know the money is missing.”“Fine,” I say dismissively.“Great. Let’s go get you signed up, then,” he says, rising and dropping a few crumbled dollars onto the tabletop. I remain seated, mouth open.“Now?”“No time like the present. I suppose I’ve taken Operation Rosie-Gets-a-Life as a personal mission. It’s too similar to Operation Silas-Gets-a-Life for me to ignore.” He extends a hand to me, and, without thinking, I take it. My heart rate quickens and I want to pull him toward me.Oh god. What am I thinking? I pull my hand away again and smile nervously. Silas smiles almost sheepishly. Did he feel the same stirring sensation?”

“well, death says, as he walks by, I'm going to get you anyhow no matter what you've been: writer, cab-driver, pimp, butcher, sky-diver, I'm going to get you”

“Come on. Let’s go get coffee, get your mind off it,” Silas says soothingly as I begin to take my frustration out on the bag of bread, violently twisting the end of the plastic into a knot.“I don’t like coffee,” I grumble without looking at him. Silas reaches forward and puts his hands over mine. Goose bumps erupt on my arms.He raises his eyebrows, voice gentle. “You can get chocolate milk, then. But let’s get out of here before you bend the entire loaf in half.” I sigh and look at him. Funny how he can go from being “just Silas” to Silas in a matter of seconds. I release the bread and follow him out the door, my frustration and the flutter feeling fighting for control of me.The diner Silas takes me to is just a few blocks away, a dingy but classic-looking place with black and white tile and red neon signs blinking things such as “Apple Pie!” and “Specialty Hash Browns!” We slide into a booth, and a waitress who is missing several teeth grins at us and asks us for our order.“Just a cup of coffee for me. You, Rosie?”“Chocolate milk,” I reply with a snide look at Silas. He laughs and the waitress hurries away. Then, silence. Silas rearranges the salt and pepper shakers, and I pretend to read a piece of paper outlining the history of the diner. Right.“So,” I blurt out, a little louder than I meant to, “I guess you didn’t get much time at home, did you? Back from California and now stuck here with us?” Is my voice shaking? I think my voice is shaking.”