“As Isabel acted out her date, both of them laughing, I stayed in the kitchen, out of sight, and pretended she was telling me, too. And that, for once, I was part of this hidden language of laughter and silliness and girls that was, somehow, friendship.”

“I asked the girl at the coffee shop out on a date. Unfortunately she said no, probably because I asked her out to coffee.”

“Shut. Up," June squealed. "You have a date with that guy?" She giggled and covered her mouth. "Shut up, shut up, shut up! Tell me everything.""I can't do both," I pointed out.”

“She stands like she’s trouble, and though her jagged haircut is trying too hard to tell me that she doesn’t care what I think, the pugnacious set of her mouth tells me everything I need to know about why she got dropped out of all those schools. The hair is what tells me she needs help, all right, but her mouth tells me she doesn’t need that much and she probably just needs time to work it out for herself. And I want, want, want to tell her not to sign the paperwork and to instead go out with me and live happily ever after in a tiny apartment in Baltimore because I always liked Baltimore and we could have two poodles, both shaved strangely to attract attention because I can see that’s a big part of her, and pretty much eat take out spring rolls every night, because that’s a big part of me.”

“Isabel had hated me on sight, and not because I was fat. Just because she could.”

“I could pretend otherwise, pushing it out of sight and hopefully out of mind. But if something was really important, fate made sure it somehow came back to you and gave you another chance.”