“You would give John Travolta a run for his money. (Tory)Yeah, and I’m sorry about my clothes. I tried, but I just couldn’t bring myself to wear that. Hell, I couldn’t do the disco look even when it was popular. I swear I’m allergic to polyester. Thank God for the punk movement. Otherwise I’d have been naked for a decade. (Acheron)”

“I’m sorry for blaming you for everything I just couldn’t do, and I’ve hurt myself by hurting you.”

“I’m so sorry, Pigeon. I tried to get to you. I tried….” He cleared his throat of the anger and worry that choked him. “I couldn’t get to you.”

“Do you know how crazy that made me? I’m trying to concentrate on my fucking fucking ball baseball game and all I can think about is why the hell the girl I’m in love with is ignoring me. I knewsomething was wrong when you never called. I tried to shake it off, but I couldn’t. You can’t do that tome. Don’t you understand? You can’t fucking do that to me when I’m trying to play ball!”

“I’d stayed away for two years. I had to. I knew I shouldn’t even be at the summer house, because being there, being near her, I would just want what I couldn’t have. It was dangerous. She was the one person I didn’t trust myself around. The day she showed up with Jere, I called my friend Danny to see if I could crash on his couch for a while, and he’d said yes. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t leave.”

“And while seeing Trent in his tighty-whities would make my decade, I’d found out long ago that I couldn’t stay mad at a man wearing nothing but underwear. They looked so charmingly vulnerable.”