“I don't know what his problem is," I said as Michael and I left the school. "Why would he tell me to be careful if he hates my guts?" "Because he doesn't hate your guts. I think he likes you." Michael was walking so fast I had to jog to keep up with him. "Isn't it obvious?”

“He doesn't care that I cuss like a trucker. He doesn't care that I hate dressing up. Or that I don't look like someone who stepped off the cover of some fashion magazine. Adam would never want me to be something I'm not for his sake. Now I know without a doubt that I love him because of that.”

“He'll be cross if he sees I have been crying. They don't like you to cry. He doesn't cry. I wish to God I could make him cry. I wish I could make him cry and tread the floor and feel his heart heavy and big and festering in him. I wish I could hurt him like hell.He doesn't wish that about me. I don't think he even knows how he makes me feel. I wish he could know, without my telling him. They don't like you to tell them they've made you cry. They don't like you to tell them you're unhappy because of them. If you do, they think you're possessive and exacting. And then they hate you. They hate you whenever you say anything you really think. You always have to keep playing little games. Oh, I thought we didn't have to; I thought this was so big I could say whatever I meant. I guess you can't, ever. I guess there isn't ever anything big enough for that.”

“How is he?""Who?""Your father."Of all the things Claire had expected, that wasn't it, and it took her a minute of honest puzzlement to try to work out why someone like Frank Collins would even care. She finally said,"He's doing okay. I talked to my mom yesterday; the doctors think they can fix his heart problem. He's feeling a lot better."Frank nodded. "Good. Family's important," he said. "Maybe too important, sometimes. Iknow how much I screwed it up with Shane. Can't blame the kid for hating me now." It was almost a . . . question? And if it was a question, what could Claire say?Yeah, he hates your guts. That probably wasn't what Frank was hoping to hear."Just take care of him," she said. "That's what you're supposed to do. Stop using him, and start protecting him. I know he thinks he doesn't need it, but sometimes he does. Sometimes we all do."Now Frank did look up, and Claire felt a blush building in her face as he stared at her like he was actually seeing her for a change. "He did okay," Shane's dad finally said. "Picking you.”

“You were broken before I ever took you to the Everneath.Remember how you were when you showed up on my doorstep? That had nothing to do with me.You came broken and that was the fault of this world.Not mine."I nodded again,a little less aggressively. "Why do you care if I get hurt?"All he said was, "I hate to see it.Whether you go with me or not,I don't like you getting hurt." But his face seemed to say more.As if there were something he wasn't telling me.Before I could ask him about it,his iPhone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out,read the screen, and then walked over to the window. "We'll finish this later.""Tell me why you care," I said.He put his hands on the windowsill. "Because it's you. Despite what you think of me,your pain will always be my pain.""There has to be more to it than that. What aren't you telling me,Cole?"He grinned. "How are you so good at reading me when you can't read anyone else around you?" He sighed, and as he climbed out the window,he said, "I love it.”

“He stuck around till around dinnertime, talking about all the guys at Pencey that he hated their guts, and squeezing this big pimple on his chin. He didn't even use a handkerchief. I don't even think the bastard had a handkerchief, if you want to know the truth. I never saw him use one, anyway.”