“That’s my good girl,” he growled in my ear. And there it was. His good girl? Why did I always have to be the good girl? Fuck that.”

“I could practically hear the unspoken ‘good girl’ accompanied by a pat and scratch behind my ears like I was his obedient pet.”

“Here is what I think now, reading what I wrote down for the police at age fifteen, right after I was raped. I was a good girl. Always a good girl, even when I was bad. I did my homework. If I can only be good enough, someone will eventually notice that I am trying so hard, exhausting myself with my effort to be good. This is true even today.”

“Good girls don't hurt other people's feelings. Good girls are not overly aggressive, competitive, or boastful. Good girls please others. But what good girls are good for is another question.”

“Why did you date all of those girls?” “Sometimes, you’re just looking for something that’s right.” Oh, it was a line. It was so a line. But it was a good line.”

“Gina and Susie were cool, though. No hint of the beer they said they were going to score. They played good girls to my parents. Not that they weren't good girls. That's exactly what they were: good girls who wanted to pretend they were bad girls but who never would be bad girls because they were too decent.”