“Spackle!” Manchee barks, tho he’s too chicken to attack now that I’ve held back. “Spackle! Spackle! Spackle!”“Shut up, Manchee,” I say.“Spackle!”“I said shut up!” I shout, which stops him.“Spackle?” Manchee says, unsure of things now.I swallow, trying to get rid of the pressure in my throat, the unbelieveable sadness that comes and comes as I look at it looking back at me. Knowledge is dangerous and men lie and the world keeps changing, whether I want it to or not.Cuz, it ain’t a Spackle.“It’s a girl,” I say.It’s a girl.”

“...Is it just another pore expanding? God, I already have pores the size of pudding cups, that's the last thing I need, another pore...to fill in with spackle.”

“Pain gettin’ cum spackle out of your pubes once it dries solid, you know.”

“What if Sam's heart got broken again? As with most kids who are fourteen, it has been spackled and duct-taped and caulked back together many times as it is. [p. 258]”

“My front door had seen jean skirts, dresses, even a see-through tube dress over a string bikini. A handful of times, spackled-on makeup and glitter lotion. Never pajamas.”

“Manchee comes outta the bushes and sits down next to me cuz I’ve stopped right there in the middle of a trail. He looks around to see what I might be seeing and then he says, ”Good poo, Todd.” ”I’m sure it was, Manchee.”I’d better not get another ruddy dog when my birthday comes. What I want this year is a hunting knife like the one Ben carries on the back of his belt. Now that’s a present for a man.“Poo,” Manchee’s says quietly.”