“...When I asked [my dad why the sky was blue] he said it was because God's a boy. If God were a girl, the sky would be pink.'What about sunrise and sunset?' I'd asked.Dad had looked dumbfounded. 'You kids. You think too much.'It frightened me how shallow the gene pool was that Liam and I were wading in.”

“I hope they remember the good stuff, when I was a baby, a toddler, when they still had hopes and dreams for their little girl, their miracle child. In truth they were good to me. They were only doing what they knew how to do; what they thought was best.”

“This is my vision-what I imagine I'll pass through on my way to the light. The blue sky, the clouds, the rays of light.”

“What was I afraid of, exactly? What other people would think? I guess, a little. But that wasn't what was stopping me from acting on my feelings. It was the intensity of them. The desire for her. I knew if I gave into it, I'd have to surrender myself completely. I'd lose all control. Everything I knew, everything I was, the walls I'd built up to protect myself all these years would come crashing down. I might get lost in the rubble. Yet, she made me feel alive in a way I'd only ever imagined I could feel. Bells, whistles, music.”

“Nick!' I flinch. 'What?' Jo widens her eyes at Mom. 'Forget it, Jo,' Mom says. 'He's not ready.''Yes, I am,' I tell her. 'I know I don't have a dad. Kenny DiPoto doesn't have a dad either because his dad got knifed in jail.''Geezus,' Jo breathes. 'What kind of neighbourhood is this?”

“Sometimes I'd catch myself looking at my reflection in windows and wonder who I was. Where I was going. Then the image would change and it wouldn't be me, just some nebulous shadow person.”

“During those times, they'd stand there watching me watching them. I'd pray, please. Put a pillow to my face. Clench a hand around my throat. Stab me. Shoot me. Put me out of everyone's misery.Why did you give birth to such a loser? Why didn't you admit I was hopeless and fat and stop trying to make me fit in? This world wasn't meant for me. I was born too soon or too late. Too defective.I wish I could tell my parents, "If you want to help me, help me die."I wonder, Are they required to fill out a 24-hour suicide watch form? Is the Defect at home? Check. Is It alive? Check.Why did they bother with the constructive surgery on my throat anyway? Waste of money. They threw away or hid from me everything with sharp edges or breakables. Picture frames. Pottery. Did they think they could suicide-proof this place?I want to tell them, "Chip, Kim, there is no way to suicide-proof a person”