“Mr. Pappadakis smells like Just for Men peroxide dye and eucalyptus foot unguents. He has a face like a catcher's mitt. The whole thing puckers inward, drooping with the memory of some dropped fly ball.”

“I do what I've trained my whole life to do. I watch the ball. I keep my eye on the ball. I never stop watching.I watch it as it sails past me and lands in the catcher's mitt, a perfect and glorious strike three.”

“I've learned that you shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw some things back.”

“There was nothing between the man and me - - nothing, not even liking. But because of the memory of some wholeness, or the hope of some regeneration, I would have dropped whatever I'd planned, just to go back to scratching around on his bed.”

“It's just one of those things, like some people don't sink when they go in the pool, some know how to throw a ball so it goes toward the person holding the mitt. I have no idea how people do those things; I'm good at schoolwork. That works out well because it frees up my time for my hobbies, like lying on the couch eating M&M's.”

“Niko was a man of few words and flying, sugary snacks. I like that in a human. ~Catcher”