“Jonah's breath came fast and shallow. I reached for his hand. He turned his face to me, his eyes wide with panic. Two frozen ponds. A boy screamed and pounded on the surface, trapped under the ice. Panicking. Trying to break through. But his screams faded, his fists flailed, and he slipped away into the dark. The boy was gone. Nothing left but the ice, clear and smooth enough to skate on.”

“I reached for the phone and dialed his number. I listened to it ring. It rang on and on. I imagined the phone crying out in his empty room.I didn't count the rings, but it felt like hundreds. Could Mr. Tate hear them echoing through his house? Was I torturing him? Making him scream in frustration, pressing his hands to his ears to block out the noise? If he wanted to make the ringing stop, all he had to do was pick up.Maybe he had unplugged Jonah's phone. Maybe he couldn't hear the ringing at all.”

“The students adore your father,' a perfumed woman said to me. 'Aren't you lucky to live with such a charming man!''He's even more charming at home,' Mom said. 'Isn't he, Bea? He rides a unicycle through the house -''- even up and down the stairs,' I added.'He juggles eggs as he makes breakfast every morning -''- which he serves to us in bed of course,' I said.'- and pulls fragrant bouquets out of his ass,' Mom finished.'He's just a joy.”

“I'll never forget Jonah's face. A light poured out of him and became the spirit of the room, like a genie released from a bottle after centuries of darkness.”

“I knelt down to his side. I touched his arm, and got closer to his face to check his breathing. I felt the heat of his breath on my cheek. I smoothed my hand over his forehead pushing his long dark choppy hair aside. His skin was soft. He moaned, and his brown eyes fluttered. I kissed him with a small soft peck on his lips.”

“If you'd only let me come by myself, none of this would have happened. Having you around makes everything worse.'She buried her head under her pillow. 'Stop it! you're so cold! You're heartless, you little robot!' The pillow muffled her words, but they still stung.'I feel things,' I said. 'I'm not a robot!' I stamped my foot and screamed. Then I burst into tears. I touched the wet little drops and held them toward her. 'See, I'm not a robot. This is proof.”

“He's as bad as my mother. Maybe worse. He's a market-research consultant. He studies people's facial expressions to see how they feel about commercials and products. He used to be a psychologist but he makes more money helping big corporations dupe the public. The worst part is he can look at your face and say 'Your upper lip just twitched! Anger! You're angry. Don't try to hide it from me, young man. Why does it make you angry when I say those pants make you look like a girl? Doe you have something against girls? Perhaps some unresolved Oedipal feelings?”