There's a power that comes with silence. I had grown to fear the unsaid thing. So it felt like a release to say it-to admit that the risk wasn't just inside our walls-it was inside my skin. I was willing to claw, scratch, and bleed until I'd found it.

He looked as though I'd just run over his pet puppy (though no actual puppies were harmed in the formation of that metaphor).

Not knowing you can't do something, is sometimes all it takes to do it.

She looked at him and shook her head, smiled a litle as she told him, "You are so like your father." Then she looked past me and Zach, past Bex and Abby, to where Agent Townsend sttod by the door with his arms crossed. "What do you think, Townsend, darling? Isn't he just like you?" She looked at Zach again. "I think he's just like you." And then she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Or maybe crying is like everything else we do- it's best if you don't get caught.

and then Zach said a really bad word, but I doubt DeeDee noticed because it was in Farsi

I love being a pavement artist; seriously, I do. It's like when guys who would normally hate being freakishly tall discover basketball, or when girls with abnormally long fingers sit down at a piano. Blending in, going unseen, being a shadow in the sun is what I'm good at. Seeing the shadows, it turns out, is not my natural gift.