“I was a hundred-percent sick, I felt as if I had no further use for my legs, they just hung over the edge of my bed like unimportant and rather ridiculous objects.”

“I couldn't take much more of this. Being the object two men competed for wasn't as glamorous as it sounded in the movies. The two men who both wanted one hundred percent of my time weren't dashing, international playboys. They were undead and surprisingly immature, considering the youngest was just over a hundred years old.”

“I've got a gig," Jim said.I sat up in my bed, wide-awake. A gig was good- I needed the money. "Half.""Third.""Half.""Thirty-five percent." Jim's voice hardened."Half."The phone went silent as my former Guild partner mulled it over. "Okay, forty."I hung up.(...)The phone rang. I let it ring twice before I picked it up."Fine." Jim's voice had a hint of a snarl in it. "Half.”

“I slid over to the edge of the bed and leaned back, letting my hair fall onto him."Ack!" he cried. "Don't scare me like that!”

“I have cried over myself a hundred times this summer, she thought, I have wept over my big feet and my skinny legs and my nose, I have even cried over my stupid shoes, and now when I have true sadness there are no tears left.”

“As I stepped out to face myself in the mirror, reaching a hand to smooth away the steam, I saw myself differently. It was as if I had grown again as I slept, but this time just to fit my own size. As if my soul had expanded, filling out the gaps of the height that had burdened me all these months. Like a balloon filling slowly with air, becoming all smooth and buoyant, I felt like I finally fit within myself, edge to edge, every crevice filled.”