“I seriously think I could have sat in the middle of the kitchen floor rubbing two sticks together over a pile of dynamite blocks and gasoline cans, and my parents would be oblivious, as long as I was keeping myself occupied.”

“What the hell?” Helena objected. “And would someone please flick a Bic or rub two sticks together? I want to die knowing exactly what killed me.”

“Neither of us ever threw anything away. We madea lot of mix tapes while we were together. Tapes for making out, tapes for dancing, tapes for falling asleep. Tapes for doing the dishes, for walkingthe dog. I kept them all. I have them piled up on my bookshelves, spilling out of my kitchen cabinets, scattered all over the bedroom floor. I don’teven have pots or pans in my kitchen, just that old boom-box on the counter, next to the sink. So many tapes.”

“I can pick a lock. How do you think I got into my parents' liquor cabinet in middle school?”

“Thaddeus Osbert sat in the middle of my office, scrunched over so he could fit. He looked me right in the eye and said, "So, I understand you believe in dragons." I nodded. He sat back and studied me for a minute or two, before uttering, "Yes, you'll do.”

“You are putting yourself in serious danger...'I think that I preferred to put myself in serious danger rather than confront my shame. My shame at not having become someone, the shame of not having made my parents proud after all the sacrifices they had made for me. The shame of having become a mediocre nihilist.”