“I, _______________________, certify that by signing below I agree to abide by the rules outlined in the REACH Handbook. I understand the rules, which have been properly explained to me by a REACH staff member. I further acknowledge that if I disregard the rules for any reason I will be subject to disciplinary action which may include in-house detention, additional counseling, and/or expulsion from the REACH program.What it really means: I, __________________, sign my freedom over to REACH staff. By signing this piece of paper, I certify that my life will be dictated by other people and I'll live a miserable existence while I'm in Colorado.”

“When I look out [the window] at the big houses on either side of the road, it's obvious we've entered the rich side of town. Poor people don't post signs like NO TRESPASSING, PRIVATE DRIVE, PRIVATE PROPERTY, MONITORED BY CAMERA SURVEILLANCE. I should know because I've been poor my entire life, and the only person I know who ever posted a sign like these is my friend...and he actually stole the sign off a rich guy's yard.”

“Hey, Carlos," the Professor says when he walks in. "How was REACH?""It sucked.""Can you be more specific?" my guardian asks."It really sucked," I elaborate, sarcasm dripping from every word.”

“Where's my cell phone?" I ask. "And please put a shirt on." He reaches down and grabs my phone off the floor. "Why?" "The reason I need my cell," I say as I take it from him, "is to call a cab and the reason I want you to put a shirt on is, well, because, urn . . ." "You've never seen a guy with his shirt off?" "Ha, ha. Very funny. Believe me, you don't have anything I haven't seen before." "Wanna bet?" he says, then moves his hands to the button on his jeans and pops it open. Isabel walks in at that exact moment. "Whoa, Alex. Please keep your pants on.”

“I want to live life on my own terms. But I'm Mexican, so mi familia is always there to guide me in everything I do, whether I want them to or not. Well, "guide" is too weak a word. "Dictate" is more like it.”

“She looks up at me with those vulnerable eyes. “What if it means something?” She asks.“What if it does?”“Promise me it won’t mean anything.”I lean my head back on the couch. “It won’t mean anythin’.” Aren’t I supposed to be the guy in this scenario, laying down the no-commitment rules?“And no tongue,” she adds.“Mi vida, if I kiss you, I guarantee there’s gonna be tongue.”

“I start to walk out of the room, but I hear him start to panic and his breathing gets labored. He reaches out to me. “Don’t go. Please.”I sit next to him on the bed, wondering if he’s afraid of being abandoned. He slings his arm around my thigh and rests his forehead against my knee. “I have to protect you,” he says softly.“From who?”“El Diablo.”“El Diablo? Who’s that?” I ask.“It’s complicated.”What does that mean? “Try to rest,” I tell him.“I can’t. My entire body hurts.”“I know.” I gently rub the arm that’s slung around me until his breathing slows. “I wish I could help you,” I whisper.“You are,” he murmurs against my knee. “Just don’t leave me, okay? Everyone leaves me.”