“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.”

“and she said, ‘So there you are!’ She asked Frank what he thought he was doing, and he said, ‘Experimenting.’ That’s what Frank always used to say when people asked him what he thought he was doing. He always said, ‘Experimenting.’ (p. 15)”

“Claire said. “I might be able to get him to stop.” “Who, crazy dude? Maybe. Or he might pull your head off,” Shane said. “I kind of worry.”She couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah?”“A little bit.”“That’s …nice.”He studied her, and returned the smile. “Yeah,” he said. “Kind of is, actually.”

“Sometimes Sarah would be up and about and when she saw Pete she would let something slip.He would walk into the kitchen to say hello and she would say, ‘Do you think whoever has him knows that he likes to read about space? Do you think they know he loves pasta but hates corn?’They were random questions. Pete tried to answer at first but then he realised that Sarah wasn’t really talking to him. She was simply voicing out loud the questions that went through her head every day, all day, tormenting her. 'Do they know he likes Vegemite toast for breakfast?’‘Do they know how he likes his scrambled eggs?’‘Are they making sure he has his milk every day?’‘Are they keeping him warm?’‘Are they being kind to him?’‘Is he going to school?’‘Do they know he hates to be tickled?’‘Are they hurting him? Are they hurting my little boy?’What could he say to that? Pete said nothing. He hung his head and waited for her to stop asking questions.”

“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?”

“I think so,” she [Claire] said. “Just watch your back, okay?” “Nah, Michael’s got mine.” He [Shane] looked straight into her eyes.“I’ve got yours.”