“I tell him everything as we walk. Maybe so he won't be disappointed being born into a place like this.”

“Maybe it's because I can't have him that I feel safe wanting him. He's beyond my reach, so he won't hurt me.”

“Maybe it’s our bodies’ way of telling us we were meant to be. Or maybe I, like, cuddle raped him or something.”

“I'm eighteen, so he's right-- there's no hurry. I don't tell him how much I want that sort of connection-- a relationship like he and Mom share. The trust and respect between them is plain to see, but I know that under the surface, their relationship simmers with passion. I don't tell him how much I worry it will never happen for me. I don't tell him how some days, I feel as though everything I do is an attempt to be worthy of being loved like that.”

“Out of my peripheral vision, I see Four shove the door open and walk out. Apparently this fight isn't interesting enough for him. Or maybe he's going to figure out why everything's spinning like a top, and I don't blame him; I want to know the answer too.”

“It was like they waited to tell each other things that had never been told before. What she had to say was terrible and afraid. But what he would tell her was so true that it would make everything all right. Maybe it was a thing that could not be spoken with words or writing. Maybe he would have to let her understand this in a different way. That was the feeling she had with him.”