“But I know he'll call, no matter what shape he's in. Even when I hate him, I love him. Even when he stops calling, I hear his voice. Will is my only brother. Without each other - without the invisible thread that binds us together, no matter how weak or frayed it becomes - we are simply drifting, all alone, without anything like a compass to know where we're headed.”

“It’s like they don’t even know how to stand beside each other without one groping the other. Their clinginess has always annoyed me.”

“You know what my friends and I used to call girls like you? Girls who had everything handed to them on a silver platter, who only cared about how they looked and who was dating the most popular guy?""What?"His grin grows wider. "We called you bitches. You girls were straight-up bitches.”

“Liz?""Hmmm?""Why do you care about me?"The question seems to startle me. It's uncharacteristic for Richie, who is usually so cool and self-assured. I open my eyes. "Why would you ask me that?""Because I don't understand. We're so different."I reach around the side of his face. Once again, I wipe fresh beads of sweat from his forehead. This time, I don't even bother wiping my hands on my pants. I lace my fingers into his again, and the two of us lie together, his damp clamminess seeping onto my made up face and my pretty clothes. Obviously, I couldn't care less."But we fit," I whisper. "Like this." And I tighten my grip around him."Mmm." He smiles, his eyes still closed. "You're right. We do.""Richie...I'm lying. I don't like you.""You don't?" His voice cracks. "No." I bring my lips close to his ear. "I love you Richie Wilson.”

“I remember my brother as such a gentle and loving child, the best big brother a girl could hope for, but I remember when I started to sense our family's world tilting on its axis, the kaleidoscope turning, when things started to go wrong. From then on, it was like we were still ourselves, but our lives played out as though reflected back to us from a funhouse mirror.”

“He can't hear you." Alex sighs. "You aren't the sharpest sheep in the barn, are you?""That's not even the right metaphor," I snap, my attention still focused on Richie. "It's the sharpest pencil in the box.""Right." Alex nods. "Except you are a sheep. I'm not stupid, I just adjusted the metaphor to fit your persona-""Oh, shut up. Richie!" I scream again. Alex shakes his head.”

“Somehow she always seems blurred, as though to focus on anything that exists beyond a canvas might prove too difficult for her tiny frame to handle. When I was a very little girl, whenever she made me angry, I would imagine a strong wind simply blowing her away.”