“Hey Rid?"She stopped and turned to look at him, almost ruefully. Like she couldn't help what she was any more then a shark could help being a shark, but if she could..."Yeah, Shrinky Dink?""You're not all bad."She looked right at him and almost smiled. "You know what they say. Maybe I'm just drawn that way.”

“Lena made a face. She almost never wore makeup; she didn't have to. "You know, it's not like we all sign a contract with Maybelline when we turn thirteen.”

“It almost felt like she was sucking it all out of me, like she sucked on that sticky red lollipop, the one she kept licking as she drove.”

“She's not my girlfriend. We're just friends," I said automatically. "Shut up. You're so whipped I should buy you a saddle." Which he would've said about any girl I talked to, talked about, or even looked at in the hall. "She's not. Nothing's happened. We just hang out." "You're so full of crap, you could pass for a toilet. You like her, Wate. Admit it." Link wasn't big on subtleties, and I don't think he could imagine hanging out with a girl for any reason other than maybe she played lead guitar, except for the obvious ones.”

“I needed to know what thread to pull. I needed to be the one who knew the right direction. She couldn't see her way clear of where she was right now, so it had to be me.”

“A random crack in the old plaster in the corner behind her seemed to grow, until it curled its way across the ceiling, circled the frosted chandelier, and swirled its way back down. It looked like a heart. A giant, looping, girly heart had just appeared in the cracking plaster of her bedroom ceiling."Lena.""Yeah?""Is your ceiling about to fall in on our heads?"She turned and looked at the crack. When she saw it, she bit her lip, and her cheeks turned pink. "I don't think so. It's just a crack in the plaster.""Were you trying to do that?""No." A creeping pink spread across her nose and cheeks. She looked away.”

“It wasn't about how she looked, which was pretty, even though she was always wearing the wrong clothes and those beat-up sneakers. It wasn't about what she said in class--usually something no one else would've thought of, and if they had, something they wouldn't have dared to say. It wasn't that she was different from all the other girls at Jackson. That was obvious. It was that she made me realize how much I was just like the rest of them, even if I wanted to pretend I wasn't.”