It's a good day when a goddess gets on the school-bus with you.

And I think of nothing. I think of nothing but Rachel. What happens next is pure magic, and is for us and us alone.

Cars are little privacy cocoons that we take with us. If you could refuel while driving you could, theoretically, stay moving forever.

At the end of the day, it's a series of individual challenges played out against a team defense. It's a psersonal test every time I step into the batter's box: Can I do better than the last time? And that's why I love it.

And my parents made me want i am. So what? We get stuff from our parents, but we also get stuff from the world around us. From people around us. And at the end of the day, we're us.

You and your scars. Please! You don't kill youself like this!" I gesture, holding a wrist turned up to the ceiling, then pretending to cut across it with my other hand. "That's just a cry for help. That's just attention. Everbody knows that. Cutting across just gets you to the hospital. That's just from movies and TV shows and stuff like that. You didn't really try to kill yourself. you just wanted attention, but you screwed up. Try harder next time.

...She's not buying [the lie], but there's nothing else on the shelves.