“I imagine you working on me as an algebra problem, reducing me to fractions, crossing out common denominators, until there's nothing left on the page but a line that says x = whatever it is that is wrong with me.”

“Rochelle," she calls out, still looking at me. "Is there anyone down at the desk? I need something."I'm too startled to move. Is she going to tell on me, get me in trouble?Rochelle's gotten up; she's banging the toilet stall doors open one by one, checking to make sure no one's in there. When the last stall turns up empty, she gives Amanda an annoyed look. "What do you need this time of night?"Amanda smiles at me, then turns to face Rochelle. "A tampon”

“When I have run out of words to copy, I look out the window at this strange place called India. Inside the train, the people around me are snoring. I don't understand how they can close their eyes when there is so much to see.”

“This affliction--hope--is so cruel and stubborn, I believe it will kill me”

“Instead, we linger over a luxury that costs nothing: Imagining what may be.”

“Then I place the blade next to the skine on my palm. A tingle arced across my scalp. The flood tipped up at me and my body spiraled away. Then I was on the ceiling looking down, waiting to see what would happen next. What happened next was thet a perfect, straight line of blood bloomed from under the blade.The line grow into a long, Fat bubbel, A lush crimson bubbel that got bigger and bigger. I watch from above, waiting to see how big it would get before it burst. when it did, I felt awesome. Satisfied, finally. Then exhausted.”

“A KIND OF ILLNESSThis ache in my chest is a relentless thing, worse than any fever.A fever is gone with a few of Mumtaz's white pills. But this illness has had me in its grip for a week now.This affliction--hope--is so cruel and stubborn, I believe it will kill me.”