“I was going to punch the shit out him," he told me. I could feel his voice vibrating against my skin. "Luke. I didn't though. You know why?"I'd wondered about that."You asked me not to. Last summer. Remember? You gave me that note. 'Stop punching people.' It's the only thing you've ever asked me to do. I can do that much for you. I think I'd do anything for you.”

“The shaman helps you figure it out. I already know what I'm going to be."I prodded him in the ribs. He couldn't just leave me hanging like that."A speech therapist." he said.The whole world could have stopped. I wouldn't have noticed.Rafael gave me an unusually stoic look. "I'm going to get your voice back someday," he said. "I though that was obvious.”

“I'm always gonna protect you. And I'm always gonna protect that little girl. There's no way in hell I'll let that woman get her hands on her.""Rafael," I said."Yeah?" "You are the most wonderful person I've ever known."It took him a moment to answer me--and when he did, I though he sounded bashful."I'd better be," he said. "Because, you know. That's what you deserve.”

“A dam inside my own heart opened up, and the feelings of heaviness and unease lifted like wind against the winter sky. I loved him. I loved his slow wit and his gruff demeanor and his tender disposition. I loved his endless empathy and his world-weary cynicism and his innocence. I loved that he was a walking, breathing paradox. I loved his lank hair and his iron earring and the tooth missing at the back of his mouth. I loved the way he laughed, music incomparable to any song, and the way he smiled, like you could see the child in him and the animal in him and the man in him all at once. I loved that he listened to crappy music, the kind that made me want to put my head through a wall, and I loved the charcoal stains on his knuckles and the pencils he tucked behind his ears. I loved that he told me to shut up as though I could actually say anything. I loved that he made me feel as though I could. I loved his short fingers and his rough palms and his long legs and his flat belly. I loved that he liked to read Kerouac but didn't know how to pronounce Kerouac. I loved his brown skin and his blue tattoos and his tempestuous blue eyes. I loved that he loved the land. I loved him. I loved him. Oh, God. I loved him.”

“You'll have to forgive me," Dad said. His mouth was moving very little, a sign that he was tense. "I'm not...familiar with...the protocol. For boys like you. But I..."I felt my face turning red. No, no, no. Quit while you're ahead, Dad. Please."I'm sure you have...urges," Dad went on. "All teenage boys have...urges. I don't know whether you've...tried anything--"I said please!"Just as long as you're safe. That's very important. You still have to be safe, even if you're both boys. I don't know what really...um, entails. You know. How you...do things. I could look it up for you--"I clapped my hand over Dad's mouth. I took him by his arm, my face burning, and dragged him back to the field.”

“Coldness settles again in my stomach. I do not want a nice Hmong girl. I want a nice Egyptian boy who teaches me about colors and makes me appreciate poetry. I want the nice Egyptian boy who stops in the middle of the day to say "Thank you, God. For everything.”

“Mr. Red Clay smiled; I had the impression it was meant to hide a smirk. "You'll forgive me for saying this," he said, "but I don't put much stock in this country's education system. There's a reason why American schools are ranked twenty-first in the entire world. Let me put it this way, Skylar. There are only three things you need to know in life. Who you are, how the world works, and how you can change it.”